Runt of the Litter
by MuddyWolf
Summary: Bradley as a newly made Homunculus, pre-canon. Brotherhood with some 2003.
1. Runt of the Litter 1

1

"Salute his Excellency, the Fuhrer President!"

Like a machine of one mind, the row of disparate soldiers converged and fell into their designated places in a long chain that stretched from one end of the great hallway to the other as the most powerful man in the country approached, winged by two bodyguards.

The man was surprisingly young for the prestigious station that the four stars on his epaulettes indicated. Already he bore the scars of war, as his eye socket was concealed by an eyepatch. Rumors had already sparked and flew in guarded whispers all over Central Command: How did the new Fuhrer lose his eye? Maybe beating back those hapless scoundrels trying to defend the crumbling Assembly as the military took control? Maybe on a top-secret campaign to Aerugo that left the already-floundering economy of the capital in financial ruin and their great leader without his left eye? Maybe fighting a wild beast in Mt. Briggs?

But in the presence of the Fuhrer himself, all murmurings went dead silent. All showed nothing less than the most absolute respect to the rigid young man walking in between the two rows of faceless soldiers. And the faceless soldiers did not dare blanche, gape, or so much as twitch at the terrifying expression of boiling hatred plastered on the Fuhrer's features as he melted some point on the opposite wall straight ahead with his shrivelling gaze, All the soldiers did-could do-was to bear the waves of fury that exuded off of their leader's great person and hope-all the while bearing that expressionless mask-that that fury wouldn't come down upon their heads in some tangible, gruesome form.

Of course they got the memo. But some callow idiot at the end of the line didn't.

Not only was he not saluting, he was shaking.

The few men at the end of the line didn't dare drop their mask to express their utter incredulousness at this single soldier's breach of military regulation, nor their terror at the fact that the Fuhrer took immediate notice of that four or five men at the end of the line and halted directly in front of them. The men except the idiot at the end stood stock still, as the stone gaze of his blue-gray eye plummeted onto the hapless coward, who, even being pierced by the stony eye, had the grapes to murmur,

"-I'm sorry sir-but I can't help it-you terrify me-."

It wasn't an accusation. It wasn't anything but a frightened statement, a statement that caused the Fuhrer's jaw to lower slightly, his black eyebrow to arch, and the four or five that were a witness to this to almost shit their pants.

Treason

One of the bodyguards came down on the seditious soldier with the butt of his shouldered rifle. "You will show RESPECT-" slam. "when ADDRESSING-" slam. the FUHRER," another slam, a crack, the soldier fell, broken jaw up as the soldier slammed against the floor on his back, now half-conscious. As fate would have it, one of the top brass stormed in the hallway, drawn by the disorder.

"What is going on here?" His eyes caught the stunned soldier that was about to get a rifle in his bleeding jaw once more when the body guard saluted his superior. A beat. The brass then saw his own superior, and his hand flew to his head in turn, sputtering,

"Y-your Excellency!" The general—an upright man with a white handlebar moustache-his rage then turned on the soldier, the one sprawled on the floor. His conclusion was immediate and he acted accordingly. "You-" He singled out the closest enlisted men, who immediately broke up the line of men and saluted in the presence of the general. "Place this man under arrest. He will undergo immediate execution for his insubordination directed against His Excellency!"

The men ordered to make the arrest fell upon the bleeding soldier, shackling his wrists behind him and forcing him to his feet. They did it roughly, carelessly, as if dealing with an animal, driving their guns into the prisoner's back to drive him on.

"Wait," commanded the young man, his good eye burning coldly, seemingly engulfed with shadows. The General turned his head away from the prisoner and his handlers back to the Fuhrer. The prisoner cast a glance over his bowed shoulder and caught sight of the Fuhrer again and again shook.

"..So..afraid..."

"You still dare to speak after all of this?" exploded the general, bringing down the blows on the prisoner again.

"Wait," again the Fuhrer spoke, lower this time, razor-edged, stopping the soldiers and their bruised prisoner halfway to the doorway, leaving drops of red in their wake, staining the floor. "Let him go."

"But Fuhrer-your Excellency, he insulted your great person! This is treason and must be dealt with according to law! Are you just going to let this go unpunished?"

"Let. him. go," the Fuhrer ordered again, quietly, but the weight of his voice thundering in response to the squeals of the general, this time rooting his cold blue eye directly at the soldiers. They hastily unlocked the manacles binding the prisoner's wrists, and the restraints clattered on the floor. "I want to have a word with him privately." The Fuhrer stared down the released soldier, who meekly felt his wrists and averted his eyes. The Fuhrer then rigidly headed to his office past the stunned general without a word.

The double doors down the hall shut forebodingly, the reverberations through the room shooting down their spines. They could only be content that it was not them. For execution must have been infinitely preferable.

The Fuhrer took a seat behind his desk, in a functional, well-made chair, folding his hands on his desk. His appearance was that of a young, clean-shaven man, with slightly tan skin. He wore an office's hat. He carried his shoulders high under his military coat with the recognizable four stars, and even so, there was something strange about his posture, something-

"Take a seat. " It was not an offer. It was a command. The bloodied soldier promptly stopped stealing furtive glances at the Fuhrer and obeyed meekly, falling into a chair before the most powerful man in Amestris. "Now tell me, why do I make you afraid?" The Fuhrer's quiet tone lanced the enlisted man with a far greater intensity in the relatively small office than in the great hall. "Tell me the truth, or I'll get angry." There were the shadows again, obscuring one whole side of the Fuhrer's face.

"Forgive me sir, but you smell different-you smell-not like me-but not like them, either-" The soldier spoke in a skittish manner, his eyes darting. "I'm a chimera, Excellency, sir-" The soldier nervously brushed away his bangs to reveal an elaborate marking on his head-"and I can smell different blood-of people-of non-people."

"Are you saying I'm a non-person?" The Fuhrer's tone darkened to black.

"Y-yes, sir. But it's a good thing, sir. I'm s-sorry sir, I'm a non-person, too- but you're a much stronger non-person that I'd never try to attack b-because I know I wouldn't win."

"...You're cautious. I like that," the Fuhrer answered, frown growing more shallow, though he kept his metal-cold glare on the creature. The chimera had no need to reveal himself-he knew from the start that the soldier was not human. "And you're right. You'd never be able to kill me, a Homunculus," The Fuhrer reached behind his head and slipped off his eyepatch, an alien sound reverberating through the office as the Fuhrer's eye snapped open and the soldier found himself staring into an eye with a marking of a snake eating its own tail. The soldier went white as the wall with terror and fell out of the chair with a thud.

At that moment a knock on the door. "What?"

"Fuhrer sir! Permission to enter!"

The homunculus looked up, his expression changing slightly, both eyes narrowing.

"Enter."

The door swung open, and a bright-eyed officer with two stars marched into the room, saluting appropriately-when he caught sight of the chimera scrambling to get away from the Fuhrer, who had_his_Ultimate_Eye_exposed.

"What the hell-and where do you think YOU'RE going, huh?" hissed the light-haired officer as he plowed his boot onto the back of the soldier, who spat up dark blood.

"Let him go, Envy-!" the other homunculus barked, planting his hands on his desk as he stood up. The eyes no longer glowed with human light, but was engulfed completely in shadow, as a fearsome monstrous light radiated from the blackness. It was good that the chimera didn't witness this, or else he might have literally died of fright.

"Envy?" A vein popped underneath the soldier's skin, a strained grimace on his face until he composed himself. He looked down affably at the chimera. "The Fuhrer's so smart, he says I'm envious of him! Ha-ha-! Alright, the Fuhrer says you can go. Sorry about that," the officer lifted up his heel and opened the door, casting him a sugar sweet smile as the chimera scrambled out the door and scampered away. The light-haired officer followed the fleeing chimera with his eyes as he careened down the hall like a bat out of hell-at which point the sugar smile turned into a snarl and he slammed the door, red light crackling off of him as he ditched his human disguise, taking the form of a hot-tempered, pale teenager in a black midrift. "What did you tell him, Wrath?" spat the other Homunculus, bunching one fist and throwing his finger in the direction of where the chimera that just left, no, that just _escaped_.

"What's got your skirt in a knot?" wrath asked in indignation, folding his arms. "I told him I'm a Homunculus. Now he won't dare go against us."

"What-? Wrath, Father didn't give you that damn eyepatch as a fashion statement!" Envy's hoarse voice cracked with rage as he gesticulated angrily, but purposefully, chiding his baby brother. " We don't_exist, remember? Not to humans, not to chimeras, not to ANYONE, got it? Father didn't put a Homunculus that can age "in charge of the country" just for laughs. To those stupid humans, you're the Fuhrer of Amestris, and nothing else. Get it?"

"Got it."

"Good. Now cover that eye up and go kill that chimera."

"You're giving me orders, Envy?" asked the younger homunculus, his tone blackening by the second.

"Are you deaf, Wrath? That flea-bitten rat's 'gonna rat us out to the humans and really put a wrench in Father's plan! And guess whose fault it'll be?" Envy dropped his volume, glaring daggers at wrath, still standing behind the desk, his shoulders forward. "I get it. You're just too damn soft, is that it, Wrath?" Envy leaned his white, grinning head forward, enveloped in his crown of wild hair held in place with an alchemically-marked headband. He leaned heavily forward on one bare foot, aggressively, looking to provoke. "Maybe that's why you won't declare war on Aerugo." Envy, without warning, rushed with blinding speed at wrath, clocking him in the face with a force that sent him headlong over the chair that knocked to the floor and him into the wall. A crash as a dazed wrath left his imprint in the plaster, and before he could extract himself, the agile Envy leaped up to him and started wailing on him, bashing his brother's head between each point in the checklist he was making. "Or send troops to help with that border skirmish with Drachma. Or increased the military budget. Or do anything that Father TOLD you to do, yet. And you know why?" Envy sneered, again drawing his fist back at the black-and-blue face. "Just because you're too damn HUMAN."

wrath's right eye went wide, his eyebrow slanting at a dangerous angle as every muscle in his inhuman body tightened, as his head stopped swimming and both his eyes flashed murder. This time, focused, focused unequivocally on his seething anger that boiled and frothed, he saw, through his left eye, Envy's fist draw back-through his right eye Envy was only starting to move. Now the Eye worked like it did when he was first created in that dank, grungy lab—back at that moment he saw everything-each and every hair on Father's chin, every individual wrinkle on his lips as stared down distantly at his newborn son, the sharp outlines of the emptied syringe in the scientist's hand, the invisible residue of Philosopher's Stone in its container, the disease in the cackling scientist's mouth that a hundred gold teeth wouldn't remedy.

With the Eye activated, the scales sank abruptly.

wrath shifted his head slightly to the left as Envy's fist punched a massive dent into the wall. Before Envy knew what was happening, wrath had drawn his sword and sliced through Envy's stomach. The Homunculus spurted blood on the floor, letting out a surprised shriek. A crackling light started to appear, signaling regeneration, but the other homunculus was incensed. "Is that all you go-errk!" wrath slashed again, severing Envy's arms, legs, head, again and again he sliced with lethal accuracy that would have butchered a human to the point of overkill. But there was no overkill dealing with another Homunculus. wrath cut Envy to pieces, every stroke fueled with terrible fury that reached its bursting point and from there spiraled out of control.

"Say that again, Envy, I dare you," the homunculus pursued the bouncing bits of his older brother as they crackled and slowly, painfully started to reform. "Say that I'm human," wrath threatened, throwing the sword over his head with a leap and planting it into the glob of Envy, cleaving him, the desk and chair into two, the sides falling over with a thunk on the floor and the glob screaming and scrambling to reform itself again before another strike separated it again. The glob squashed down onto the floor and then sprang up, growing, growing until the blade of the sword caught him-and the other window, shattering it.

The glob grinned as hurried footfalls of bodyguards tramped outside on the hallway. wrath stopped, mid-swing, sweat beads rolling down the side of his head and collecting on his chin. The footfalls came within a foot of the Fuhrer's office, stopped, and then marched off in the other direction. Silence. The Envy glob's grin crumpled and he bounced around trying to expand while wrath thrust the bloodstained point into the mess of regenerating tissue when five black lances burst through the door and into the homunculus's hands, pinning him to the floor and unleashing an enraged cry from the young man as his sword clattered to the dented, bloody floor. That gave Envy more than enough time to expand, rearrange himself, and regain his smirking, gleeful form.

"Just in the nick of time, Lust."

"I didn't do it for you, Envy," the silk-voiced woman looked up with annoyance as she opened the door with her free hand, discreetly locking it behind her without removing her lances from wrath. She stepped inside the office, her narrow, scrutinizing eyes observing the mess that her brothers had made. "Father sent me up here because he heard this racket from all the way downstairs," she explained in irritation. "He also knows you've been getting cozy with the humans-and I believe sleeping with the enemy-" wrath's face was contorted into a snarl as he struggled to wrench his hands free, only succeeding in tearing his flesh further. "Is my job." Lust was admirably cold. A model Homunculus. With a fixed idea of her place and everyone else's. "Your job-and I'm repeating what Father said verbatim-is to gain the trust of the humans and get them to create the nationwide transmutation circle. That translates for you, No. 12, into war at the four key points of the circle."

wrath stopped struggling. He understood that he wouldn't get free until Lust withdrew her lances.

_If not for the damn door I'd be able to see them coming._

That made him burn in fury even more. At wrath's increasingly foul mood, Envy was all the more delighted. He giggled and shoved his foot black with dirt in wrath's face. " What if I refuse?" Envy stopped giggling and his expression twisted. He raised his leg and brought it down, but wrath's left eye had already seen the stomp beforehand. His teeth clamped up on Envy's foot, and the latter grabbed it in wild pain and hopped on his other one, the fight degenerating into the comical. While Envy and wrath exchanged missed kicks and ineffectual bites, Lust frowned, staring off out the open window, a slight sigh escaping her lips upon which there seemed a permanent coat of paint. "Then we'll have another Greed. And Father won't like that."

"Greed?"

"He was a Homunculus who didn't like the way things are run here," Lust explained, her eyes fixated on the horizon, her violet, monstrous eyes fixated on some unattainable point.

Envy chimed in,

"Yeah. So he ran off, the bastard. When we catch him Father's totally going to boil him in oil," Envy's grin broadened, his fingers quivering with joy.

"That's what happens.." The clack of Lust's black high heels in the dented floor as she walked towards wrath's supine form. "..When a mere Homunculus challenges Father."

"_I ask you for the last time, Lust?"_

"_Is this really your decision?"_

_Chained inside the white-hot furnace, she died over and over again. _

_She did not want to die for the last time._

_Not before she became human._

_Not before she found out..._

_...What that was._

_"...I will serve you, Father. I was wrong. Forgive me."_

_Her eyes—what were left of them- then shone honey-sweet, doe-like, pleading. That coupled with her supplication would stay the hardest hand, and by that alone did she find herself free-well, physically free, anyway. _

For as long as we live..we are bound to him.

"Lust? Hey Lust? Lust!" Envy snapped her from her trance, shaking her by the bare shoulder, her brother as excitable as ever-it was no wonder that Father only ever used him for spying, he was useless on any other job-it was then she noticed that her lances had retracted, and Envy was gushing blood again. That could only mean- "Wrath's gone!" Envy's hoarse hiss swept away layers of memories like a cloud of dust and she returned her focus.

"Damnit...if Father finds out.." Lust grimaced, leaping out the window, landing softly near a lamppost. Envy's heavy tread followed as he made a deep imprint in the grass. A moth flitted in erratic orbit round and round the lamp, but before they could dash into the shadows, the disembodied voice of a child stayed them.

"You were supposed to be watching the baby."

"Hnh. You make it sound like it's so easy, Pride!" Envy scoffed, planting his fists on his hips. "Baby has one nasty set of chompers! He's tough for something that looks so human."

"Save your excuses. He's mine, now."

The disembodied voice receded as the teeth and eyes in the shadows plunged fro lampost to lampost, shadow to shadow under the coolness of the round moon.


	2. Runt of the Litter 2

2

wrath didn't know where he was running: he didn't really care.

He knew he was angry...but not at who he should be angry at- at the humans, who his family looked down on with contempt, but at his siblings. At his Father. And this anger made him run-run far from Central Command, across the parade grounds, past the soldiers' living quarters. Away from the heart of the city, with a thousand murderous thoughts boiling in his brain. He did not want to be Fuhrer. He had never asked to be Fuhrer. He chose to survive instead of die and become another failed experiment that would be stacked up indiscreetly in that spare room in the lab. He had made that choice with the vague notion that he would gain a name. Because before he had none.

But he hadn't been prepared for what would be asked of him. Despite his endless training, physical and mental preparation and formation into a model soldier, he wasn't ready to lead-he had killed many a fellow candidate-because as they said, they always taught him, that those he killed died to advance his own position.

But-

They weren't people.

He knew very well-from the bars on the windows, the isolation from the rest of the world, that they were less than human.

And the people that he was in such close proximity to now, THEY were human. They had names and families and aspirations and weren't all that bad.

Though he had gained a name, a country to pretend to rule, he felt still_less_than human-even though Father and all of his siblings treated him more_than_human. But-it was. Like he was incomplete. So how could an incomplete being kill perfectly content beings, and send them to kill each other in war?

He had been trained in all sorts of military tactics, the most efficient way to kill a man, the way to extract resources from neighboring territories, the way to govern the home country, surveillance, and endless else.

They thought that making a so-called superhuman-(only the scientists knew that the creature was a Homunculus born of this strange being's essence) would make an instant leader, an immediate savior.

But-

"Maybe Envy's right."

He came upon a street corner, well-lit and full of the nighttime crowd. Humans bustling to get to their shift, dog and horse carts pulling notables-they were distinguished by their good clothes, their ability to sit in a cart pulled by horses. King Bradley was supposed to be a notable human, too. He blinked down at his military uniform, dirty from fighting with Envy and from running through the gutters, and lifted his hand, still bloody from Lust's lances, to get some of the dirt off from his uniform. It didn't come off, and feeling his familiar fury rising, he pulled off the jacket, bundled it up under his arm, and forced his attention elsewhere. His right eye met with a man playing some kind of object that made noise-pleasant noise, each time he moved this rod over the wires of the noise box. And the man with the box started to make an enthusiastic ring around two people-their hands were linked, and though they were two distinct people, a man and a-

What was that? wrath had no name for this human creature who looked like man but yet didn't. He was much smaller than a man, with delicate features and soft eyes-no, the man had soft eyes, too. The man finished twirling around the not-man, with the long garment that reached his shoes, with a plant in his hair, with a chest that was strangely shaped. Wrath was entranced by these two humans locked in each other's hands but not in combat. Not-in-combat. "What are you doing if you're not fighting?" he asked, brusquely, a growl coming from the shadows. The couple stopped what they were doing-the man was afraid and drew back. But the non-man, with soft, golden hair that shone like the sun, held out his hand.

"We're dancing. Here, come and join us!"

"...Dancing?"

"Elizabeth, what are you-?"

"Oh, relax, Berthold! Obviously he doesn't get out much! Lets teach him what we know!" the non-man said gently, pulling his reluctant man by the coat.

_Man is Berthold. Non-man is Elizabeth._

wrath cautiously emerged from the alley, the light falling on his face. These humans must have not been from Central, as they had no idea who he was. And that was just fine. He watched the way that the man and non-man moved their feet and hands, so elegantly, like in a battle, but when they were finished, they were both alive. "..Alright, now I'll show you," said the non-man, releasing his dance partner's hand. The blonde non-man clasped Wrath's hand in his own, and looking at the blood, sharply inhaled with concern. The human contact made him bristle, grit his teeth in an angry snarl, and it drew a grunt from him as he tore his limb away protectively.

One of the drawbacks of a human-based Homunculus was that regeneration only kicked in for serious wounds-minor wounds like being impaled in the hands healed normally.

"Hey, don't do that to my girlfriend! She's trying to give you a hand!" Elizabeth's concern did not fade. Perhaps it caused Berthold to soften as well. "Can I see that wound? I might be able to help you," Berthold stated, motioning with his fingers.

_'Girlfriend'._ So that's what else Elizabeth, non-man was. Girlfriend.

"Help me?"

wrath slowly approached Berthold and Elizabeth, with added caution. This was all strange to him. What were the humans going to-Berthold took his hand, and drew out a lighter from his pocket.

"Now this is going to hurt, but it will stop the bleeding. Alright?" Berthold flicked on the lighter-wrath had seen lighters before. Several of the soldiers smoked and some of them managed to procure lighters. He himself didn't smoke, the very fumes made him angry. Humans had a lot of contemptible habits-smoking, spitting, scratching in between their legs, picking their teeth, "farting", "burping"-wrath was taken aback at the impressive flame coming from the lighter. "One day I will figure out how to alchemically produce these flames."

"..You're an..alchemist?"

_Alchemists are the key to our salvation, my children. _

_To expand the country's borders._

_To sow unrest among the humans._

_Reap their thirst for vengeance._

_And to create the transmutation circle._

"Yes. Alright, brace yourself."

The crackling flame sank its teeth into wrath's skin, ripping a ragged scream from his body. As the fire licked his hands, he became angrier, the shadows on his face deepened and any irrelevant thoughts were consumed wholly by his unmitigable wrath. He jerked a leg backwards to get away from the fire that stung and mashed into his palms-no-no-why was HE, wrath, trying to escape this, when he could easily lunge forward, draw his sword and plunge it into his assailant that was burning him-burning-

He would've done it if not for Elizabeth's hand that he rested calmly on wrath's shoulder. His fury abated in his touch, soft and warm, that somehow countered the biting heat of the fire, held by the man who had no malice in his features.

The last of the blood disappeared under the sewn skin. The alchemist's work done, he stood up, capping the lighter and slipping it back into his coat. "There. All done. Sorry about that-but it might have gotten infected otherwise."

_I highly doubt that._

Wrath grasped his still-hot hand in confusion, fear, and felt it all over with his other hand—sure enough, it had healed.

"Lets start over."

Again, despite the strangeness of the man, the non-man reached out to him and showed him the steps. One movement. Two. And they watched him as he mechanically marched. They figured he was a soldier by the sword on his lower back, and the trousers were military blue, and he was holding a uniform jacket. But even soldiers knew how to dance. The stranger was quite the enigma.

Berthold: _This guy is completely hopeless._

Elizabeth: _He just needs a little lesson, that's all._

"Okay, so this is how you do it."

By the watch of the gaslight they repeated the same steps again and again, and by this repetition the one-eyed young man became more fluid with the steps, more accurate, until he did not need their help at all and was moving with surprising elegance with both of them—Berthold seemed a little uncomfortable- the young man insisted to dance with him—(It just wasn't done in Central. You'd see that kind of thing more in Dublith.)

"I will demonstrate to you that I have absorbed the material sufficiently."

"Wait a minute—you're going to dance with me?"

"Yes. You look unenthusiastic."

The young man with the eyepatch glared at Berthold. It made him uncomfortable, a little afraid at the intensity of the tone—it was as if the soldier had suddenly changed into a different person. All of this was very, very out of place.

He fumbled for an explanation.

"Well, you see…"

The soldier's presence was so forceful that Berthold abandoned his excuse. He had a weird feeling that the young man would not accept an excuse. The painless though awkward option was—and he took it- to let the other man sieze him by the waist with iron-hard hands—for all the soldier knew, and Elizabeth and Berthold recognized this and didn't try to teach the soldier the convention that men danced with women—the dance **was** a battle. They weren't soldiers, but they figured soldiers would engage the strongest opponent—and though Elizabeth was a sturdy woman, Berthold was actually a man—that's what they figured was going through the soldier's mind, anyway.

"Hey, you're getting pretty good at dancing," Berthold dizzily remarked while the young man spun him around. The surprised note gave away the fact that he hadn't thought that the other man would be able to pick this up at all. The dance over, the black-haired man stiffened once again, once again became inapproachable. But they weren't judgemental—and after Berthold regained his footing and stopped holding his hands over his mouth and Elizabeth had stopped laughing, he motioned with his hand in a friendly way as he put his other hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "We were going to get a bite to eat in a few minutes. Would you like to join us?" Berthold asked, good-naturedly, maybe out of regret that he had to resort to such a painful treatment. This guy must be pretty strong, to recover so fast from the burn. Elizabeth stood up as well, and went back to Berthold's side. They were both smiling, the man and the girlfriend. wrath tried to mirror that expression. The tightness of his facial muscles prevented him from offering anything more than a slight upward lift of his lips that looked more like a leer than anything. If they noticed that, they paid the awkwardness no mind.

wrath wanted to go with them. To ask them how do they smile. To learn.

He would have gone. His life would have been very brief.

But he would have lived as a man does with rights.

But he didn't. Berthold and Elizabeth went off. So did the man with the noise box. So did everyone. He stayed the whole night next to that alleyway. There was a bite in the air and at some point he put the military coat back on.

"There you are."

"Big brother Pride?" wrath's voice fell.

The glowing violet eyes pierced the remaining souls in wrath with more violence than Lust's lances, Envy's kicks, or even Gluttony sitting on him. As wrath stared with definite fear at the glowing eyes of the figure that couldn't be more than four feet tall, the shadows shot out like ropes to entangle the wayward homunculus.

"Don't 'big brother' me." The Ultimate Eye again failed in the presence of the older Homunculus that could put the fear of death into anyone, human or not. The child's voice was indignant, but calm, tranquil, more tranquil than wrath was at the moment, struggling against the shadows that squeezed his limbs to the point that he thought they might sever from his body. "You know that we are all simply aspects of Father. We are of one mind though in different containers. Maybe you had a body when you were just a human, but now as a Homunculus that body is simply a container. Oh...surprised? Hm. Father was right to suspect that you would lose your resolve if exposed to the frivolity and idle pursuits of humans outside the military. You are woefully...impressionable. I'd expect no less from an infant." The shadows stretched back and lashed the other homunculus against the wall with such a force that his entire skeleton rattled under the flesh and muscle. wrath could already tell it was a light blow. His body hadn't even made a dent. But his entire body was wracked with hurt. "But baby has to grow up sometime. It might as well be now." Pride receded into the alley and plunged down a sewer grating with his brother still wrapped. For Pride, it was no matter to slink in between the grates, but bringing wrath down, he found himself attempting to squeeze the six-foot something human through the narrow slats.

"Pride-rghh..you're being-stubborn-can't fit-"

Pride cast his indignant look up through the slats.

"It's not my fault that you're in such a big container. Fine."

Pride retracted his shadows through the grating, and in the total darkness, they retreated altogether. Pride's narrow eyes shrank to slits.

"Why did you wear that out? You'll get it dirty." Pride asked, his voice now contained in his body. wrath had crossed paths with Pride a few times, but always in his true form. Now hearing him several feet below him, a little above knee level with the voice of a child, the ground was more level.

"I don't care."

So predictable. Just a stubborn child in an overgrown container.

"You are the nation's "leader", after all. At least try to look respectable for your human 'subjects'." A stony silence. The larger container glared down between the slats at the smaller one. Pride did not return the anger, calmly stating, "But it's filthy down here. I suggest you take it off and bring it with you."

"Why would I want to do that?"

Pride's lips lifted in a small curve. The early morning shadows started to creep up behind them. The big container threw his head over his shoulder, sweating. Pride's instructions didn't make any sense to him. But light meant shadow, and shadow meant…

Grumbling, the other container shrugged off the coat, revealing a black shirt that stretched tightly over his muscled frame. He folded up the coat and placed it in one arm. Now unimpeded by the crushing stranglehold of big brother, he wrenched up the grating and dropped into the sewer.

His right eye adjusted to the darkness, while his left pierced right through it, identifying the form of the child. His jaw tightened and all neutrality fizzled out of him. What was coming was a foregone conclusion. The younger container stopped walking, the sewer only rippling with the filth flowing down the channels and a pregnant tension. "Any other orders you feel like giving me, Pride?" Pride had forgotten two things. It was completely dark and wrath had removed his eyepatch. Pride had thought that his younger brother would opt for the sword, but he felt a singular shock as a boot to the ass that sent him crashing into the opposite wall. and into the muck. Pride sputtered in the foul sludge and floundered and splashed his way to the ledge. He climbed up, dripping, slightly irritated,

"Enough with the games," Pride stated evenly through a mouthful of sludge, his strings audibly tightened.

"If we're just containers for the same souls," wrath smirked, "Then I just kicked myself. Strange, I don't feel a thing. And you threw yourself into the wall. I bet you didn't feel that. But I did," the homunculus growled, his voice edged with fury.

Through the darkness, Pride nodded in placid comprehension. "Point taken. Perhaps we are different. You, for instance, have an undesirable temper." Pride's feet squished loudly and wetly on the dark concrete walkway running parallel to the river of sludge. "A temper much better used against the humans than your own kind." wrath was waiting for Pride to retaliate, to trip him with his scrawny little legs, to shove him in the muck, to do something that would fuel his insatiable anger. He was champing at the bit for a fight. But the inevitable comeback never came, and Pride indulged in wrath's sullenness. "What were you expecting?" asked the small form. His tiny voice echoed throughout the sewer. "That I would engage in such childish diversions? I have no time for this idiocy, and neither do you. And Father has heard that you're dragging your feet. But I was able to convince him-give me some time with him, and I'll be sure to rouse the true Wrath."

"True Wrath?" Snap. "I _am_ Wrath."

"..Don't make me laugh." There Pride stopped, turning around to face the other homunculus, radiating the glare of death that the Ultimate Eye did perceive through the mold black of the sewer. "Your blood may run with Father's essence but you are incomplete. Don't be ashamed- All Homunculi went through this state at some point in their lives. They were given human shape, and even thought they might be human-and in this error they suffered for a while. Until they embraced that they were more_than human. But because of the circumstances of your creation, you are taking much longer than other Homunculi to shed that erroneous notion. Therefore as long as you cling to your human 'memories', and hold humans as something to be admired..." Pride wound the corner, looking straight ahead. "You will be neither that trash, nor will you be a true Homunculus."

"I'm neither. So what am I?"

"You tell me."

"Is that why you won't call me Wrath, Pride?"

The heavy silence was enough of an answer. Pride felt a rush of air behind him as he felt the brute lift him up by the throat and squeeze it-a normal human would be choking and could certainly not talk through a crushed airway-but really, he barely felt it. "LIke I said, your wrath would be best spent on the humans." The big container loosened his grip. A thud on the concrete as Pride dropped a good six feet and landed on his back on the ground, unscathed. His clothes and skin scraped against the concrete as he pushed himself upright with a "hmph".

"But they're not that bad," wrath explained, They taught me dancing. And that not all noise makes me angry."

At that, Pride's demeanor changed, which wrath read with palpable uneasiness through the darkness. His brother was assessing something. Thinking.

"They let you hear...music. I see. Well, my would-be brother, prepare to be taught something quite different."

"Pride? Where are we going?"

Wrath stopped at the corner, his left eye peering around it. This next part of the sewers stretched way into the distance, farther than he could see. Pride now cut off all conversation, walking resolutely onwards.


	3. Runt of the Litter 3 AND 4

3

"Where has Wrath gone, my children?"

Gluttony and Lust stood before the imposing figure of Father, the former sweating and sucking his thick thumb in a pitiful attempt to sate his hunger, the latter coolly searching for the best way to word an explanation for this debacle.

"Father, he has fallen under the spell of the humans. It must be...because he lives at military headquarters. He cannot help but have extended interaction with them."

"Are you saying that his interaction with humans has caused him to abandon his family?"

Lust thought. The last time this happened was with Greed. As irritated as the overgrown infant made her, she didn't want this to end unpleasantly.

"Pride is talking to him right now, Father. I'm sure that he will be able to talk sense into Wrath."

"I do hope so, my children. If Pride and Wrath returns and Wrath is still incomplete, then I'm afraid I will have to disown him."

A cringe escaped her. "You may go, Lust, Gluttony."

The fat blob followed waddling after the woman. She headed through the enormous doors and placed a finger to her white forehead in irritation.

_Why do I have to be the go-between..again?_

As Gluttony's stomach rumbled and he squeaked accordingly, patting the giant globe of a belly he had with his fat, brown arm, Lust headed down the cavern leading upstairs, to the surface.

4

Envy did not like this. one. bit.

He was currently disguised as the Fuhrer President, a slightly swarthy young man in top physical condition with a hairless face, black hair cut short, with a few tufts that arched quirkily over his forehead, a large, aquiline nose, and one pale steel-blue eye. Behind the eyepatch sat the mere likeness of the distinguishing feature of the Homunculus he was imitating. He didn't have x-ray vision or whatever the hell the Ultimate Eye did. anyway.

But even so..

_Gross-body-gross-body-gross-body-gross-body-gross-body-gross-body-gross-body-gross-body-gross-body…! And what the hell is this stink parade yelling at me for?_

The so-called stink parade was a whole host of human men older than time sitting along the length of a table all staring at him with their decrepit eyes about to pop out of their leathery, wrinkly, splotchy heads. _Ew. _

_Grosser-bodies-grosser-bodies-grosser-bodies-grosser-bodies! Huh—I wonder if the number of stars on their uniform corresponds to the length of their mustaches—Oh, WHO CARES?_

"What's the situation?"

_Ha. They were totally fooled! Stupid humans._

"Now Fuhrer, Your Excellency, there is a dangerous faction in the military that wants to maintain diplomatic relations even if that means to leave our western border defenseless! We have valuable salt mines on the border of Amestris and Aerugo."

_Ugh, every time it opens it talks it spews toxic gas-and the hell? I don't know what the hell they're all flapping their gums about—oh, will someone make the stupid stop coming out of their mouths!_

"I propose—" Tune out.

"Defend-" Tune out.

"Alliance-" Tune out.

"Fuhrer, Your Excellency, what do you plan to do?"

_Oh, damnit all. Now I have to actually_ _stall._

"Lets not…..be too brash."

_Ah, hell, why that pause? C'mon, Envy, you're usually so much smoother than this!_ "Why don't we wait and see what happens?"

The squashes and crusty rinds traded surprised glances. Some of them sweated, the liquid oozing from the pores on their bloated skin. Others squeezed their wrinkly hands into ineffectual fists. Oh, how Envy loved seeing humans twitch and fret! The only part that made him stuck here listening to these rancid humans worthwhile. "You're all dismissed," the Fuhrer announced, and one by one, the generals peeled themselves from the wood and headed officially out—but only barely concealing their disappointment at the Fuhrer's continued neutral policy.

As the last rotten vegetable slorched out of the door and an attendant closed it, the Fuhrer chuckled to himself, grinned widely, and glowing tendrils of red light zapped and sparked around the ugly homunculus's body that wiped off slowly, replaced from the bottom up by the beautiful adolescent body, alabaster white, flawless, skin without blemish or defect, lithe form sporting a fabulous fashion statement, fingerless gloves, midrift, skirt, spats, all in slimming black. Envy lifted a beautiful palm and swiped it across his forehead, brushing back his long, wild locks, grinning so wide that would hurt a human if they tried to imitate him. The glee-filled Homunculus plopped his enviable body onto the table, causing it to shake with the weight of his true form, the harsh sound of his laughter, sandpaper wrapped in velvet, filling the conference room.


	4. Runt of the Litter 5

5

The sea-green standard flapped in the dust-choked wind that whipped above the small mass of blue-uniformed soldiers advancing towards the orange drape. The dust began to swirl underfoot. The two masses of men began to converge.

Amidst the dust the grating rattled and swung open. The Homunculus and the other container emerged from the hole.

"Pride, what's going on? Why are we in the middle of a battlefield?"

"I believe it is a continuation of an old unresolved conflict between this country and its southern neighbor. This is the southern detachment that the last administration deployed from Central to guard this border. The rest of the nation, unfortunately, is at peace with its neighbors."

Behind Pride's round, diminutive head the soldiers marched onwards, their guns drawn. The tramp of their boots thundered on the plain.

"In the name of the new Fuhrer, King Bradley-fire at will!" The air snapped as bullets cracked through the air above and around them. A cry of one of the other side dropping in the field. Bradley's one blue eye widened in realization, and he set his jaw, realizing that he had been tricked.

"You brought me here to fight. Father must have told you I was reared for war but never was in direct combat."

Pride grinned, tilting his head at a conspiratory angle.

"I always harbored reservations with Father's decision to isolate you from real war. He feared that the candidates' bodies would expire before he had a chance to create a Homunculus. But only war can make you complete, Wrath. " Pride slipped through the grating, pushing Bradley out of the hole and into the fray. "Well, then. I'll leave the rest to you." The gate slammed shut.

_So this is why he made me take off my uniform. _

_Pride knew this from the start. The southern detachment is fighting Aerugo for control of the salt mines. _

He knew this immediately. The political situation of Amestris had been drilled into his head for his entire life.

Both the Amestrians and the Aerugites charged for each other, exchanging fire and blood. As Bradley assessed the situation, looking forward at his front, facing an array of spear heads, and then flank, the smoke riddled with shot from Amestrian rifles on their way to their Aerugite targets, the countless days of training, from when he was old enough to wield a sword flooded his brain. The rule was brutal and simple. Kill others so you may survive.

A human enough rule.

When the Homunculus next opened his right eye, the pupil was a mere slit in his dead iris. He grasped the hilt of his sword and the figure in black ripped across the field, laying into the spear-wielding horde.

A terrible scream ripped out of one of the spearmen, a single cut from a sword seemingly out of thin air opening his veins that spurted his precious life into the dust.

"What—what just happened?" They whipped their bodies around frantically in every which direction.

"The enemy just has guns, don't they?"

The second wave came like a gale, ripping straight through their ranks with the blood-washed edge, cleaving shields and armor with a harsh grinding sound. Another fourteen spearmen fell heavily on the earth.

"This isn't happening.."

"All units, retreat! Now!" screamed the leader of the charge, and the men turned tail and fled, only to be severed from their midsection as the red sword split the dust-clogged air.

The moans of the dying sounded like grisly horns as the Amestrian commander shouted over the tumult to cease fire. The detachment looked dully onward to see their enemies falling by scores dead.

"We got 'em!"

The commander squinted.

"What is that?" He lowered his rifle cautiously, gluing the side of his hand onto his forehead to discern what had caused their enemy to fall so easily. "I don't like this."

The smell of blood clogged the air. Sweat poured down the Amestrian's bodies. Fear hung over every man.

The dust hadn't settled before a glowing red dot pierced through the cloud. The whirlwind burst through the dust curtain, circling the blade upwards through the nearest target.

"Commander!"

The remaining ranks of Amestrians caught a glimpse of the attacker—it was in human shape—it was a man—but one eye was glowing and its face was engulfed with shadows, and the other eye had a red snake on it.

"What is_that thing?"

"What are you waiting for, shoot it!"

The men in the front line emptied their clips, some resolute, some vengeful, others terrified, and even more terrified still when none_of_the_bullets hit. The creature simply wound around the projectiles as they whizzed harmlessly past its head. "What the hell?"

"No—it's impossible—we can't win..!" One of the junior officers dropped his gun and ran. The snake eye was trained on him next, and the thing lunged forward, but slammed into the other soldier calling after him. The impact stayed the butcher's sword for a few moments, long enough for the second-in-command to condemn the deserter,

"You traitor! How dare you dishonor the Fuhrer by running from this monster instead of fighting it?"

"Well…that's interesting."

The creature spoke for the first time. A human voice—but there was no way that thing was human. As the second-in-command, only crying treason a few moments ago, stared death in the face, only then did he realize who that death was.

"King…Bradle—"

The thing thrust the blade into the soldier's stomach, and no sooner had he died with "why?" etched into his features, Bradley cut the defectors and the loyalists down, making no verbal or physical distinction. The moans chorused from the other side, too, as the blood ran out and the dust finally settled over the bodies.

Bradley drew up his sword, thick with innards and blood, sheathing it in one of the scabbards strapped to his back. Footsteps tread in his ear—that of a child. He whirled around to face the little boy, still covered in sewage from the aborted game. He allowed the slightest show of teeth in his smile, for this was a momentous occasion.

"Good morning, Wrath."


	5. Runt of the Litter 6 AND 7

6

The palm-leaf head radiated a hellstorm. Lust didn't have to see it. She knew the moment she entered the chimera-guarded pathway that led upstairs that her brother was throwing an earthquake of a fit. Not that she was particularly in the mood for his griping. She couldn't remember who was older, she or Envy, but despite his age he was all drama. Gluttony's wide girth fell behind her as she quickened her pace, the ouroboros on her chest swaying from side to side as she strode purposefully forward. At the thunderous footsteps of her brother, she crossed her arms coolly and leaned on one hip.

"Rrrrr—AGHHH!"

His cry of rage made the chimeras crouched in the shadows growl in confusion. Gluttony rolled his flabby brown head to the side.

"What's wrong now, Envy?" Lust pre-empted.

"What's WRONG?" Envy raged his shoulders raised, his muscles taut. Sweating, and breathing hard in a rage. "I just got back from pulling an explanation out of my ass as to how 50 loyalist meatbags in the military were butchered, that's why!"

Lust arched an eyebrow incredulously.

"50 soldiers? That's all? Why should that bother you? You're always about making humans suffer."

"They were killed with the Fuhrer's sword!"

Lust frowned. " This bunch was particularly devoted to the new Fuhrer. AND you know how humans are. The rumors are flying like crazy. Now if Wrath didn't have any opposition in the military, that'd be all fine and dandy. But there's a faction of bleeding heart humans in the military that's really happy to hear that the Fuhrer might have killed his own men, so they can get rid of the admin and revert Amestris back to a democracy!"

The female Homunclus's narrow eyebrows slanted on her pinched violet eyes. Envy usually overacted, but for once his anger was warranted. Her painted lips pursed.

"I have a feeling that Pride is behind this."

"Why that midget bastard!" Envy threw a fist into the wall, leaving an imprint in the metal pipes. "I'll show him-!"

"Calm down, Envy," Lust exhorted. "You know that you can't touch Pride in the presence of Father. He will have a fit. And..even if you could get away with it," she brushed a lock of dark hair away from her face, blase. "Pride isn't here." Gripped with that realization, Envy pounded at the wall without mercy, boiling over with lava bursts of frustration.

"Well, when he GETS his mini-ass back here, I can't pound him into the floor even if he betrayed Father?.!" his disbelieving voice gushed with discontent. Why could he never smack Pride around and take him down off a rung or two? Screaming, his voice cracked against the metal floor and network of pipes embedded in the wall, bouncing around haphazardly.

"We don't know that. I have a feeling as to why Pride took it upon himself to find Wrath. But like he usually does, Pride outdid himself." She shrugged. "I suggest you tell Wrath to clean up his own mess. At least that will get rid of the dissidents."

The rage in Envy disappeared. He formed his lips in a thinking o-shape, sat on it awhile, and snapped his fingers, pacified. He turned on the ball of his foot and headed back upstairs to chew out Wrath, wherever he was-while Gluttony, wheezing in his high-pitched voice, finally caught up to Lust.

Meanwhile, Pride and Wrath returned to Central.

Wrath got a good chewing out by Envy: getting stomped by the Jolly Green Giant.

Wrath said that he understood the error of his ways but he didn't like Envy's tone: Envy was promptly cut to pieces. Envy wanted to chew out Pride but Pride disagreed with Envy's plan: he impaled him on his shadows before he could even get a word out. He then returned unapologetically to Father.

Envy told Wrath to sweep out the democracy-mongers. Wrath returned to Central Command to do some cleaning and waffling.

Lust, Envy, and Gluttony stirred up unrest in Creta and Aerugo, inflating what used to be a border dispute into a country-wide clamor for war in both the southern and western nation. It was a tactic the artificial humans used often. Go into a neighboring country friendly with Amestris. Incite conflict-champion a few leaders, and most importantly, ensure that the foreigners attacked first, clearing Amestris of the blame. A defensive war, to protect its resources and people. And the citizens bought it every time. The ones that didn't-well, they didn't matter much because they'd be either removed from the country, or more often, killed-either secretly by the Homunculi, if they could not find a way to make the death legitimate, or in a tragic "accident", or the opposing humans were fed to the state machinery via imprisonment or execution and shamed, as well as all their relatives, descendants, and associates. It was as simple as that. Any other protesters left were the weak and the disenfranchised. No one would listen to _them. _

And the blood-soaked gears started to turn once again.

7

FUHRER KING BRADLEY DECLARES WAR ON AERUGO AND CRETA

"Really? That was sudden."

A young woman remarked on the headline that read in Central Times. "It just seemed like yesterday that we were at peace with them." She bit into a pastry. The woman was fashionably dressed in faux fur, but had a provincial air about her.

"I can't wrap my head around it, either," the man she was conversing with over a modest breakfast mentioned, crinkling the paper in thought. "A two-front war..I don't know how the country will pay for it. As a nation we barely have enough food to feed ourselves, let alone a whole army."

The woman countered,, stroking the man's cheek. Her voice was soothing, but strong. "Why don't you let the government worry about that? We're just civilians. And Amestris has always had a volunteer military, so you don't have to worry about being drafted."

"I know, Pinako.." the man sank into the seat, steadily growing despondent. The waitress left him the bill. Pinako picked up the slip and read it, digging into the pocket of her dress. "But I have a bad feeling-like this will be trouble to our children."

"Children?"

"…If we have them, of course," the man corrected, sheepishly, nervously. "Either way, um…"

The woman grabbed her significant other's hand firmly, and gave a sad nod.

"I know…"

A bird flew off of the umbrella that shaded their table from the harsh sun that beat upon the streets. A dog-cart screeched around the corner, kicking up mud. In the distance, one could hear the measured stomp of moving troops. City-dwellers poked their heads out of the windows and waved and cheered for the blue line.

The applause made the old bones of a man wearing thick spectacles creak and groan with annoyance.

"Suuuuure, they cheer now! But just you wait, two or three years and they'll be clamoring for an end to the war! These toddlers, they never learn!" Old man's jowls bulged as he rocked forward in his chair and shot a wad of tobacco into a spittoon. The metal container had feet and it jiggled a bit as the wad hit the rim.

A plump woman bouncing a baby in her arms, baby-soft themselves, glided in from the next room cheerily in.

"Grandpa, can't you find something else to do besides complain?" the woman scoffed good-naturedly, until she spied out the window. "Wait..Dylan..Dylan might be sent south and he hasn't even seen our baby..!"

"Oh, war's suddenly not so convenient anymore, is it?" cawed the old man, shaking a lumpy fist. But the fast woman had already opened and shut the door, the cooing of the pudgy baby dying out as the woman gathered her skirts and made her way down stairs of the apartment complex and out into the street.

She hailed a horse-cab, and looked up hopefully at the big brown mustang that clopped up to the street. Unfortunately, a sharp-featured officer pushed his head out of the window.

"Why..if it isn't Olivia..!" The aforementioned Olivia nodded quickly, and was about to say more, but the officer cut her off, glancing at the ranks of infantry that passed the block and disappeared. "Why have the troops been deployed?" he asked urgently.

Olivia blinked her small eyes set in her round, curl-framed face and asked, nuzzling her baby periodically,

"You mean you didn't know? The Fuhrer declared war on Aerugo and Creta."

The officer's skin went sheet-white. He shouted something to the cab-driver and turned to Olivia and waved to her gratefully as a whip cracked and the traces wobbled and the brown horse thundered off, the carriage bouncing heavily on the wheel-and-axles. Olivia looked after them, confused for a little while, until she heard the baby's gurgle again. "Sssh. Ssh…" She looked down one way and then the other. Releasing a frustrated grunt, she raised her skirts with one hand and bubbled off across the street in the same direction as the carriage.


	6. Runt of the Litter 8 AND 9

8

With the last of the troops deployed, the Fuhrer turned on his heel and re-entered the Command Center, followed by his attendants. Something was decidedly different about the Fuhrer sine the last time that they saw him, but they couldn't place their finger on it. It wasn't their job, anyway. They flanked him down the hall until he drew out his sword. One of the attendants sniffed. He thought he smelled blood. The Fuhrer's good eye shot back at the attendant, who stood ramrod straight with a rock in his throat. The Fuhrer made a motion with his weapon to dismiss them, and the attendants broke off and dispersed, leaving the Fuhrer alone in front of the door to the conference room. Behind it were the muffled shouts of the generals.

When the Fuhrer exited the conference room, the generals were unusually silent.

9

"So we're all agreed."

"That Bradley did it?"

"It doesn't matter if he did it or not! The point is that this is the perfect opportunity to restore the Assembly! To re-establish democracy!"

"It won't be that simple. There must be an investigation into the whole affair-"

"By then it will be too late!"

"Democracy is unfeasible in this day and age, but I am 100% with you that the current Fuhrer must be deposed! I elect..Colonel Grunman to overthrow the current administration-"

"I second the motion!"

"What about the Assembly?"

"The Assembly is simply not powerful enough to raise this country out of this depression!"

The door opened, letting the cool air flow into the stifling hot room, that up until now had only been relieved by the open window of this building located on the extremity of the military compound.

"Ah, Lt. Colonel Henschel! You're late."

"Sorry for the delay, sirs." Rushed pause. "The entire top brass has been murdered."

"What..?"

"In the conference room."

"By whom? How did they get past security?"

"The wounds are decisively from Bradley's sword."

"That maniac! ..but they were advocates of the new administration…!"

"Of course, we've been lobbying against them for years to shrink our borders!"

"Why would he murder his own partisans?"

"Do we need a reason? You must be blind to not see this is a fortuitous boon!"

"Yes, we must strike while the iron is hot!"

"….I couldn't agree more."

At the sound of the foreign voice, the conspirators' frantic gaze darted around the room. Their stiff collars collected sweat that clung to their throats. Finally one of them caught sight of the owner of the voice—who had just climbed in through the open window and was standing among them. They froze. Dead still. And within a few terrifying moments, dead, dead.

The deed done, the threat disposed of—the generals weren't exactly a threat, but he was fully awake. It was folly to discriminate. Everyone_everyone made him feel angry. But he had expended his wrath for the time being. The corpses piled around him, there was nothing more to fuel it.

Except...

"Olivia!" A human standing outside the window called, laughing. "Is that her? Is that our baby?"

"Her name's Chris," Olivia beamed proudly, handing the baby to the uniformed man to hold. The man bounced the cooing baby in her yellow blanket, rocking her around. The baby grasped and pulled the air with her tiny, fat fingers, drooling. And then, she scrunched up her chubby face, tears collected in the corner of her eyes, and her round, toothless mouth fell agape.

"Uuuaaaaaa…!"

It was the most wretched sound. Like a dying animal. The relentless waves magnified in his ears, pounding at either side of his brain in seismic bursts. Wrath bent double, shaking, quivering, his teeth clenched, his slitted eye bulging. This thing was making him angrier than ever before. His right eye began to cloud over with silent rage. "Uaaaa…!" He lifted his sword. "Uaaaa…!" He leaped up onto the windowsill. "Uaaa…!" And lunged.

A large black dog checked him mid-jump straight towards the bushes. Before Wrath could recover in midair, the dog bashed him again straight down onto his back through the branches and foliage.

"…Darling..did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" The soldier blinked. True, he heard something—it must have been a large foraging animal. "Listen, Olivia…I'm planning to resign. Especially now that we have Chris…someone has to stay at home and watch her…."

"Uuuuaaaa…"

The conversation grew more distant. No one noticed the black dog or the man he dragged along further into the shadows and into the earth.


	7. Runt of the Litter 10

10

In the cold chamber with the elevated leather bag nestled deep underneath Central, the Homunculi formed a loose ring around Father. Pride stood nearest to him, at his side. Lust, Gluttony, and a humongous Envy stood in front of him in a line, with Wrath clamped between Envy's teeth. The latter was pissed, the former sullen.

This was the first time Wrath had seen Father since after he was created, only the second time he had been in Father's chamber. He couldn't help but notice that the other Homunculi had not talked to him when Envy brought him down here. They made it a point to face away from him.

_It's like they're pretending not to know me._

He jerked in anger and Envy clamped down tighter, the black whites of his eyes expanding wildly, the blood leaking from the teeth-wounds on Wrath's midsection.

_Oh, no you don't. You've caused enough trouble already!_

"Wrath."

The earth-moving, deific voice of Father struck mortal terror into Wrath. "I understand that you have been engaging in activities that undermine the state. …I expected better of you, Wrath."

Lust's lower lip tightened. Wrath glanced down over at her. Searching, fearful. But his sister did not answer him. "But because is the first time you have disappointed me, I will be lenient, forgiving..as a father should be."

Father lifted his great bearded head and motioned to Envy. "Place him in the machine."

Lust inaudibly sighed. Father had a specific way of teaching each of them-Greed by boiling oil, she by furnace…She laid her eyes on the device. Envy's jaw slackened and let Wrath fall from his mouth. He crashed down hard onto a table, Envy following him down as he shrank into his humanoid form. Once at ground level, he noted that the device had ropes formed into a ring—Envy figured out what to do well enough and he forced the stunned Wrath's hands into the ropes, which he secured, and then clamped steel bands around his little brother's ankles and pulled a leather strap over his chest, now fastened to the table. Wrath's normal eye darted about the chamber in a whirlwind, fretted, in the eerie familiarity this entire setup had. He struggled, futilely, like back then-His jaw locked. Muscles tightened, bracing for

The turn of the wheel. "Since you have forgotten, I will remind you of your duties, Wrath."

Envy turned the wheel—without his usual sadism—his expression was neither gleeful nor malicious—with his inhuman strength it was no big effort. With each turn, Wrath suppressed a scream, growling through his teeth, sweating hog-like. "Expand the country. When it has attained the form of a complete circle, carve out crescents of blood in the north, south, east, and west." Envy started to turn the wheel again, accompanying Father's voice in measured, mechanical rhythm. "Destroy all internal and external threats to the country or to you." Wrath was on fire with hatred as another few cranks sent a snap tearing through the air of the chamber, coupled with a furious scream as Wrath jerked his head up from the table, thrashed his neck, bashed his chin on his chest. He pulled his ankles against the bindings, thrust his chest and abdomen up against the strap, struggling violently against the ligatures. Father let the pain sink in before inhaling intently. "Do not harm loyal countrymen—they are not just humans, but your pawns-"my pawns—to form the circle." Wrath felt his muscle tearing inside his arms as the ropes yanked his arms to the point that at any moment they would be torn out of their sockets…the arms that he used to maim and kill—strong on account of his endless training and his species—at any moment, they'd be wrenched clean off his body. Sweat now plastered the black tufts of hair to his forehead. He looked up at Envy, pleadingly, at his empty, unreachable face. Envy went right on turning the wheel. The flesh opened up right below the socket, spurting blood. Stretch. Bones cracked and snapped while the bloody muscle tore as the ropes yanked and ripped Wrath's arms upward, upward, stabbing though him with white-hot pain.

The roar of a scream from the Homunculus fazed none of them. Outwardly, anyway. They observed dutifully, glad it was not them.

After all, they all had to go through it, too.

_Call it a rite of passage, little brother._

"That is all." Father motioned from his flask with a wave of his hand to end it—Envy released the crank.

The arms severed, Wrath's head, neck, shoulders, chest under his black shirt flooding with sweat, his hair in disarray from thrashing his skull on the table. Wrath's arms lay there limp in the ropes, while the blood flowing out of the ragged ends of flesh, muscle and nerves that once held them.

The ends of the sockets crackled with the regenerative light but to Wrath's fear, nothing had happened. He looked up at the high, serile ceiling, blurry even to his Eye, with diffusing hatred.

"Are you wondering why you're not regenerating?" Father inquired. He noted Wrath's change in expression from across the chamber. "I have placed you within a special circle which counteracts Homunculus regeneration."

Wrath's gray blue eye dilated and hardened, the light crackling around his bloody shoulders, but its power blocked. The hours crawled by, as the blood slowly, painfully left his body through the grievous wounds. The Ultimate Eye clouded as he sank into death.

When he came back to life, Wrath realized another soul had left his body. Now he was free, was lying outside the circle, the other Homunculi still standing aloof around him, their expressions blank. They dared not show whatever was truly on their minds, not after one of them had just gotten punished. Wrath struggled to his feet, glancing dully at his severed arms still tied to the table and the bloody stumps attached to his torso. His imposing frame was bowed with the blood loss. Both of his eyes re-focused through the thick film, absorbing and assessing his surroundings. The young man now stood outside the circle: the regeneration was permitted to start again. The light flashed in his eyes, the blue one achieving full clarity once the regeneration activated. Muscle reforming, nerves extending, not without pain, as that's how a Homunculus was designed, but after getting his arms torn off, he was practically numb to his regenerating limbs. His brothers and isters were ringed around him, silent.

Father's voice pealed from the flask.

"The number of souls in your body are two."

The message was clear.

Father is indeed merciful.

From that day forward Wrath took up his duties without complaint or deviation.


	8. Runt of the Litter 11,12, 13

11

Elizabeth opened the door, letting a balmy air current caress the entryway to the flat. She shut the door and drew the blinds, walling off the light. She settled herself down on the rickety chair in front of the circle table and opened the paper.

AERUGO AND CRETA – DEFENSIVE WAR OR GENOCIDE?

Elizabeth shook her head with a heavy sigh as she pored over the article. A crawling baby with hazel irises rolled and grasped her way to her. The woman set down the paper on the table and kneeled down to scoop up her baby.

"Oh, Riza…what a terrible time for you to have come into this world.."

A weary presence shuffled in from the bedroom. He noted blearily that the blinds were drawn. His hands were full with a thick stack of scribbles. His heavy tread bent the thin floorboards as the large-nosed man walked over to his wife.

"Reading the Central Underground again?" Berthold's voice was wary, nervous. He leaned down to kiss Elizabeth, and, smiling sadly, held out his finger for Riza to pull. The baby giggled and tugged, rolling along the floor. "You know that the Underground puts a spin on things."

"Whatever the reason, Berthold, many people are dead. People like you and me. With loved ones.." Elizabeth blinked back an overwhelming sorrow. She stroked her baby's straight blonde hair lovingly, desperate to hold this fleeting moment in her palm. "And our daughter will have to grow up in this time of trouble."

Berthold heaved his sad, rounded shoulders, nodding and exhaling.

"I know…but Elizabeth, I wish you wouldn't be so vocal with your politics. It could be trouble for Riza…and for you."

Elizabeth's expression was sad, hard, firm. A light knock at the door that startled the both of them. "I'll get it."

Baby drooled on her yellow footies and Elizabeth went to cleaning it up. Berthold opened the door a crack, upon which he saw a round boy. "Ah, Roy. Come in—the house is a mess, as you can see-"

"It's really clean, Mr. Hawkeye sir," Roy answered. He was a little rigid in the presence of authority, and Hawkeye cut an impressive figure—his eyes were filled with an inextinguishable determination. And Roy's almond-shaped eyes were filled with awe and wonder at the alchemist, this stern, studious man that held all the secrets of his known world in his study just beyond the kitchen. The black-haired Xingese-looking boy—dressed in suspenders and a clean white dress shirt, brown shorts, and dress shoes, took Hawkeye's invitation and hopped over the small ledge in the doorway. "Hi, Mrs. Hawkeye, Riza," Roy bowed stiffly at Elizabeth, who smiled warmly at him.

"Don't forget the treats I left for you by the stove. You can't go studying flame alchemy on an empty stomach."

"Thanks, Mrs. Hawkeye, ma'am," Roy answered, standing on his toes and reaching for the said food. Once he got it, he bowed again and walked the length of the kitchen. He was careful not to run into the baby and followed his teacher into the study.

Elizabeth looked on at them, her smile gradually dissipating. A clatter on the floorboards. Riza had built a tower and then knocked it down, and now she was trying to find the pieces again. The same hardness in the mother's features changed her face. She edged towards Riza, picked her up and squeezed her to her chest. "Goodbye, Riza. I love you."

Elizabeth then carefully got up, opened the door, and left, locking the door behind her, not daring to look back at her daughter.

12

The king of Creta stood before the foreign invaders that had set up a command center on the western border and called it most ignobly- West City. Once proud and vigorous, he had aged overnight, his features sagging, and his lordly commands giving way to pleas and supplications. The ultimate shame for a king.

"You surrender, you say?" the Fuhrer asked. He was now a hard man with broad features, now middle-aged, though his face was still hairless. His people—the top brass—that had turned over several times within the last twenty years- waited the decision with fervor—and the immovable countenance displayed by all of them showed the conquered people that the conquerors stood behind whatever the Fuhrer saw as best for the nation.

_Blue-eyed devils, all of them._

_But if we bow now, surely we will have hope of surviving….surely._

"Yes. Take all our land, our gold, silver, take our women, whatever you require! We will pay annual tribute to you and be your vassals forever!" The Cretan king prostrated himself, his royal robes flopping over his now-lowly frame. Some of the generals inwardly smirked and chortled. The veneer over their contempt and amusement was laughably thin.

"Are you saying that I can be bought?" Bradley asked, his thick hands folded below his chin, a Drachman chill radiating from his one eye. "I wish nothing less than the extermination of your race."

_The western arc of the nationwide transmutation circle._

The Cretan king pushed himself up with his arms, shaking, trembling.

"You can't…why? Why?"

Bradley placed a quill to a piece of parchment, scrawled his name coldly in measured script and handed the paper off. He stood up behind his desk.

"I just did."

The Cretan king did not hear any of the meaning behind those words. The façade was perfect. A flawless mask of the racist leader hell-bent on the genocide of another people, concealing from everyone the fact that Wrath made no distinctions between humans.

_They all fuel my hatred._

_How I would love to kill every last one of them. _

"Well done, Fuhrer, Your Excellency!" One of the generals saluted, as the Cretan king floundered helplessly on the floor. The general had a habit of being very close when talking to anyone—he was right next to Bradley's desk, and about three feet away from him.

_Get out of my face. _

Not that he cared about personal space—a human vanity, or a ruler's space—another human vanity, but the very threat of physical contact with humans—he had felt it once before, and it revolted him—and now, fully awake, he couldn't even bear to be _near_ them.

_I'll kill you._

"Remove his majesty from my office and turn him out onto the border, so he can be with his people," Bradley gestured grandly, imperiously to his general, like a conquering king should. But behind his eyepatch the Ultimate Eye roved unceasingly, infused with almost manic fury.

_So many humans..._

_And I am only permitted to let other humans kill this king, and I can't touch a hair on the head of my generals. _

_I_

_H_

_A_

_T  
E_

_T_

_H_

_E_

_M_

_A_

_L_

_L._

Wrath was interrupted from his thoughts with the pathetic squeals of the king. The junior officers dragged out the leader of Creta, pleading, sobbing, and in turn the brass and the Fuhrer filed out of the room to observe the oncoming slaughter.

13

The enlisted man received one message.

"Your country will be forever grateful for your sacrifice."

The higher-up received another.

"Sacrifice your subordinates and you will receive immortality. You will only have to stay in the center of the circle. You will be safe from the reaction that will engulf everyone else."

"The secret to an invincible army…that needs no rest, food, will be merciless to their enemies and will NEVER DIE…"

The rumors circulated with blinding speed, and the artificial humans fanned the flames with growing anticipation. The sea-green flag flew high with promises of a bright future for all. Break eggs. Make an omelette. Draw a circle. Draw blood. Draw the blood circle. Life. The blood is the life.

The Amestrian infantrymen, at the command of their superiors, threw themselves at the cannons of the impenetrable Drachman lines. Every day someone was coming back in a box, draped with the green-and-white flag, put in a hole with the gun salutes and the trumpets to make it seem that they died for a Cause, for an End Goal, for Something….

…Creta was completely smashed…

…The Central troops returned to the city..

..And for the rest, life went on…


	9. Runt of the Litter 14 AND 15

14

The last month of the year. Central's forces were again launched to Aerugo –this time the southern part, on another "defensive campaign."

A single candle flickered in the broken-down building, giving off a floating gray wisp of smoke from the wick. About 40 people were huddled the candle, holding makeshift wooden signs—seven of them held crates of what looked like explosives. A brown-haired man—his hair stuck out on his tan brow in a youthful sort of way. He possessed a kind gaze, a compassionate gaze. He wore a rose shirt, red scarf, and square glasses. He rubbed his bare hands, blew on them, and then rapped a ladle on a frying pan twice. The rest of the people were silent, and all eyes were on him. Their breath hung smoky in the freezing air.

"It's time to move. Whitmann's group will split off and create a diversion for the north and south entrance units. They won't actually reach the front gate, just make enough of a row below it. This will draw attention away from Vendam's."

One of the people with the explosives wore a hood. A lock of blonde hair stuck out from behind her ear, red with the biting cold. She shivered, her body showing her frailty. Not her purpose. Her sun eyes were proof of that. "Friends..thank you for standing with each other. Tonight is the night. We do it or we die, but we would have died for Amestris—the _true_ Amestris, the one that we were proud on before the military came and made us all butchers." A reverent murmur throughout the crowd, a clack of their wooden signs. In the dim candle light, you couldn't make out the messages painted on them, but it was as if the very letters were infused with resolve. "Now, please, friends. For Amestris, lets sing its hymn. Not to invoke war as we are about to make on the nation's administration but for hope. Hope for peace."

One voice, from a foreigner standing at the rear of the room, started to sing in broken Amestrian, "Of golden plain and verdant forest.."

And the others joined in, softly, like a whispered prayer.

The hymn ended, the gathered people turned their thoughts to violence, and with another clank of the ladle against the frying pan the 40 people vacated the building and went to their work, letting the last ember of the candle die out on its own.

15

The front gate to the citadel stood high and imposing, overlooking the very center of the city. The gate was guarded 24/7 by rotation. The very bottom ranks of the military were saddled with this crucial task, as the designated human shields.

They stood bundled in their uniform jackets, the regulation pistols at their belts.

"I'm afraid to open my mouth."

"Huh? Why's that?"

"Because it's so d-damn cold that I'm scared I'll get my tongue stuck on my teeth."

"Oh, yeah. Forgot you got a metal grill."

The other guard laughed, hugging his arms to him in a valiant, but ultimately futile attempt to get warm. These mittens weren't doing crap. Frustrated, he took them off and threw them in the shallow snow, blowing on his hands with his cheeks all puffed up.

The other guard suddenly frowned and while his partner was warming his hands, he ran to the edge of the roof.

"What the?"

He looked down at street level, where there was a small crowd. They were waving signs and throwing rocks against the wall, like tickling a whale. At such a height it was impossible to see what their intent was, but from the angry shouting and scraps of curses lashing through the air, it couldn't be good. "Get some men down there! It's a riot!" the guard yelled.

The reaction was swift. Within minutes snipers were in position, surrounding the protestors from the main gate and from the southern gate. By that time the protestors had tripled in number, a huge brown-and-black patch in the snow.

"This is the Central Force of the Amestrian military forces. Disperse or we will open fire."

"Disperse this! Damn the military to hell!"

One the protestors pitched another rock at an infantrymen, and he dropped his gun with a cry, cut from the stone.

"One warning!" ordered a higher- up in his spotless uniform. The snipers fired warning shots into the snowbanks, scattering the growing crowd, drawing fearful, angry screams from the picketers. On the ground, Whitmann gave the signal, and the crowd suddenly diverged, curving around the Command Center towards the rear entrance. Infantrymen ran in their long, unwieldy uniforms to meet them. Some of the protestors retreated, realizing they were outnumbered and outgunned, scarcely being able to turn around before they were hit in the back. Bodies flopped prone in the snow, soaking it red as the soldiers crunched the snow next to the dying's ears to deal with the next threat. Splintered signs cracked as they fell, the writing buried in the drifts. It was a disaster. The dissidents scrambled under the snow to hide, the fluffy piles splotched red as the soldiers found their mark. Whistles screeched in the air as reinforcements piled in, armed with hoses filled with freezing water and shackles should anyone surrender.

No one did.

The diversion was a success. The seven demolitionists slipped In through the woeful gap in security. Only the reserve forces were in Central at the time: the rest were stationed in south Aerugo.

Two burly men barged into the compound, barreling over a running soldier, slipping on the slush that they had tracked from outside. They smashed into the wall, lit with lanterns with a heavy crash. They shook the lanterns free of their hooks that clattered to the floor.

"Death to the military! Today we take back Amestris!"

Raising a crowbar, they smashed the lanterns,. The tripping flame and oil caught the powder that they flailed wildly in the air. Gunfire punctured the entire first floor of the compound, filling the rebels with shot.

"Damnit, they're gonna go off!"

The explosives blew apart, sending an explosion of about two feet in diameter.

"What the hell?"

"A ruse!"

"Privates Dorfman and Grenter, get your asses over here now!"

The soldiers sped off urgently down the hall, where several more of the lanterns burned on the floor. The air was wet with blood—they must have gotten the rebels—but also lay thick with fog. "There are three more insurgents in the Command Center! Find them!"

"Sir!"

The soldiers trampled across the hallway with dire urgency and forged single-mindedly forward. Going so far forward disabled them from simply looking up.. Enclosed in the grating of the air vent hung the fifth and sixth demolitionist, rigging up the explosive.

"See how they like this," the rebel said as she set off the canister. She and her partner scrambled through the grate and dropped down into the hallway. Their sudden noise alerted more soldiers.

"There they are! Stop!"

More cracks of pistol shot as the rebels slipped and slid down the hall, now clouded in a thin, transluscent purple gas. As the sheet of gas clouded the hallway, the insurgents sped off towards the exit. Blue uniforms blocked their exit and shot them down without warning or explanation. "It's all up to Lizzy…" the rebel managed to stagger out. They knew was coming. They had expected it. Face-down in their blood they expired with placid countenances.

Elizabeth made her way carefully around the mammoth factory. A massive, windowless hollow concrete block, a now-motionless beast that melded man's labor with metal. Older than the newest alchemical laboratory but newer than the oldest, it had been in full operation for quite some time. On the great assembly line, the men forged the weapons of war. Normally, the huge furnace would power the factory, but it closed one day a year, for the winter national holiday, no exception.

A glaring weakness, from where she was standing. Elizabeth rigged the explosives. If all went according to plan, the military would be distracted with all the fake bombs to seek out the real one.

She drew out a match and struck it against some flint, filling the dead shell with a tiny orange heat. As she went to light the fuse, she froze—she found the fuses cut. She grasped the tips and held them under the light, confused, startled.

"What the…no, this can't be…"

She heard steps behind her, and with a gasp reached her head over her back.

"I have to say I'm impressed. Most insurgents go for the head, not realizing that a headless state can function just fine if it has its nerves."

Bradley recognized the non-man immediately. The girlfriend of the alchemist that had taught him to dance and closed his wounds. He showed no hint of that recognition. The non-man was now just another rebel.

The woman, though defeated, one foot in the grave, remained defiant.

"But without its nerves it's a rotten carcass." She stared into the cold eye of the Fuhrer, keeping her own gaze steady. "You sent a decoy to Aerugo, didn't you? You knew we were going to attack."

"Your band of rabble was the furthest from my mind. I had some business in the vicinity, is all." His tone was arrogant. The man of the law speaking to a caught criminal.

_There's something I must know…_

Elizabeth detected something else—underneath the surface, some strange thing that was bothering her. It wasn't that she suddenly remembered seeing Bradley before—this man, the Fuhrer, could not possibly have been the strange young man that she and Berthold taught how to dance. It wasn't even a possibility. The sharp grind of metal on the scabbard as Bradley brandished it in front of the non-man's chest. If he recognized her from back then, there was no sign of it.

"Wait..!" Elizabeth beseeched. Bradley stayed, arching an eyebrow. "I know that you must kill me for treason, but before you do, please tell me.."Why are you doing this?"

"Bradley answered without missing a beat, "For the health and glory of the nation—"

"Liar."

He flinched at Elizabeth's accusation, so direct, so forward, as if he had been cut with his own sword. "You hate us. You hate your citizens..the ones who are so eager to throw away their lives for you and because of that hatred you're destroying this country…" Elizabeth didn't let her head sink. She looked the Fuhrer President directly in the eye. "Please, tell me why you hate your people so much?"

Bradley's eyebrows remained quirked. He started to chuckle, then laughed outright. It wasn't out of amusement. Who knows what it was.

"You're sharp. If you have offspring, I suppose I should keep an eye on them. As for why I hate my people…."

With a lightning movement, Bradley thrust the sword deep into Elizabeth's abdomen, and as she spat up red and the blood pooled around the blade, Wrath lifted his eyepatch to the dying non-man. "It's because they're _human_." Elizabeth's eyes widened in shock, fear—that trumped the white-hot pain that flared in her gut.

_We were in way over our heads.._

She did not know what the snake eye meant—only that the state itself was a lie.

_I see..It's because we're human-and he's not…_

…_I wonder..how many more will take this creature's secret to the grave..?_

"Berthold….Riza….I'm sorry.."

Elizabeth slumped over the sword, and Wrath removed the bloody weapon out of the dead non-man's gut, causing her to slump back, the face, dripping blood from the mouth, etched with sorrow. Wrath sheathed his sword with a disposition of steel, his lips again in a frown. He shook his head, baffled.

"You should have kept the identity of your loved ones to yourself."

He walked away, resetting his eyepatch, expecting to feel nothing out of the ordinary. He killed a rebel—sating his wrath minutely. But another feeling that hadn't come to bother him in a long time crept into his brain: confusion.

Wrath should not be confused.


	10. Runt of the Litter 16, 17, 18

16

Berthold, Roy, and a high-chair sitting Riza sat around a cake. Roy wore a silly party hat. Riza had a full head of blonde hair, that Berthold remarked,

"Looks so much like your mother's."

"Ma-maa!" the child rapped the high chair with her tiny fists. Roy was putting the candles in a lemon cake. He struck a match and lit the two candles.

"Make a wish!"

Riza puffed up her cheeks until they were fat, then blew at the candles, snuffing the light and heat out.

17

"…I see…yes, I will come to identify the body. What do you mean….? ..Uprising..? ..No, I had no idea…What…what do you mean she can't have a proper funeral?..! No, no, this is outrageous!"

Berthold's steps were much heavier than usual as he hung up the phone on the wall. He moved as if through liquid, his feet were as if made of stone. His pallor was of the dead, and his voice was as if gripped by an unearthly being.

"Roy, watch Riza while I'm gone," he instructed, briskly walking out the door to the flat. The little boy acknowledged it, and locked the door behind Mr. Hawkeye. He flicked his black eyes towards the newspaper that had been moved to the waste bin. Riza squeezed a toy puppy.

"Ma-ma..ma-ma says hi!"

Roy dropped the newspaper—the details were too hard for him to understand—though the headline was clear enough.

CENTRAL FORCES CRUSH REVOLT

He watched Riza playing with the toy puppy. "Ma-ma, ma-ma, here's Roy! Roy, say hi to mama!"

"There's no one _there_, Riza," Roy stated sullenly. He was thinking over the events of the past few months..why Mr. Hawkeye had left..that phone call..why Riza's mom hadn't been home since the mid-year..why Riza was talking to the wall…why…Roy's almond eyes widened..no, no, it couldn't be…"Riza, there's no one there," he repeated.

"Mama..?" Riza picked herself up and inched forward to the wall. "You have to go now…? Will I see you soon…? You don't knowww? Aww, ma-ma..!"

Roy had tuned out Riza's talking to the wall. He refused to admit the existence of ghosts. The only thing he knew for sure, was that Mrs. Hawkeye wasn't coming back.

18

Envy liked to sleep under the stars. Just one more point of pride that he could chalk up to being a Homunculus. Those stupid humans didn't feel settled in unless they had a mattress and a scrap of linen to cover their ugly, misshapen bodies.

Whereas he, ENVY, could plop down anywhere for a few Zzs. So he had finished a glorious nap under the trees, and snapped open his purple eyes to greet a sky filled with a full, fat white spring moon. Kinda looked like Gluttony's ugly mug. Envy bounced up on his bare feet, yawned and stretched, rocked back on his feet a couple of times, and waved his gorgeous brown locks in spiky waves around his face, alight with an evil grin.

"Time to check in with dear old Dad," Envy announced to no one in particular, and shot off in a blur, leaving giant footprints in the ground on his way to Central and crushing the worms that peeped up from underneath the soil. The streets were quiet, and though such a heavy-hitter, Envy could be quiet, too. He scaled the buildings lizard-like, reaching the roof in seconds flat. He grinned at the star-filled sky. He might belong to Father but he was a Homunculus and did that feel good..! Those pitiful humans could keep their stupid emotions anyday!

Envy hopped from building to building, dropping to the street as soon as the entrance to the underground lair came into view. How it filled him with absolute joy to twist a couple of arms in Lior, and be back in Central to watch some state prisoners get mutilated by noon, and finish up the day by inciting some border skirmishes—

"It's so good to be ME!" Envy cried out to the world, laughing maniacally as he bounded joyously down the underground passage.

That is..until..

"…and the four dissident newspapers have been shut down and their authors discredited."

_Hey, I know that voice…sounds crustier each time I hear it..!_

_But what's he doing down here, that wannabe..?_

Envy stormed through the doors and beheld a disturbing sight. Lust and Gluttony were standing there in front of Father—nothing new about that, and Pride being that holier-than-thou prick standing right next to Father, and then _this_ was new..

_Wrath's reporting directly to Father..?.!_

"You have done well, Wrath. Carry on as you've done, " Father thundered in a pleased tone. Wrath bowed and headed through the great doors. Envy followed him with his eyes, his legs bent, on edge instead of content. Kind of pathetically, he faced Father hopefully. "Envy. Wrath has now reported to me three times."

"Three?" Envy burst.

"There is no one at the Command Center."

Envy's lower lip fell, gathered what little composure he had and jabbed a thumb hard into his torso.

"Leave it all to me, Father. It'll be like changing the guard next time!" Envy laughed confidently, and stomped off too sourly towards the doors.

The second he was out of hearing range, he unleashed a raw scream of hot, overflowing rage. "That little bastard!" He socked the wall, leaving a fist print in the metal. "We all agreed that he'd live upstairs, and now he can come down here, too! It's not FAIR!" Envy punched the wall again, shaking a chimera out of the grate. It squashed on the metal back-first, climbed back up to its place, growling in annoyance. Lust mirrored the chimera's expression, thinking as she walked ahead of Envy, who was taking his frustration out on the wall, floor, and whatever chimera next fell down from the pipes, punching and kicking it to a howling red-and-green pulp.

"You've always been a terrible liar, Envy."

"What?" Envy rushed forward, grabbing Lust by the chin and promptly getting impaled in his extremities. "Gaackkk!"

Lust withdrew her lances from Envy's limbs, in this case the equivalent of saying, 'get off', and folded her arms knowingly. "You don't want him to grow up."

"He's still a runt," Envy countered indignantly, the dripping wounds sealing with alchemical light.

"By earning the right to talk to Father directly, he can stand on his own now." She paused. "He doesn't need you anymore."

Envy twitched violently during that stinging moments of realization, but then slumped forward, laughing—but not his usual jocund way. Hollow. Disbelieving.

"He walked by me..he didn't even stab me in the throat!"

"I thought so," observed Lust. "That's the way things are, Envy. You might as well get used to it."

"Why so complacent, Lust?" Envy laughed, his slit pupils contracting. "You're fine with just becoming obsolete?.! Getting tossed aside like trash? Maybe it was inevitable with Wrath but what about Father?"

"Ssh, not so_loud."

"Oh, ho!" Envy pointed, his face manic. "You know what's going to happen! The second we stop being useful, he'll cast us aside, just like that!"

"Then make yourself useful," Lust answered. Facing away and to the side. "Wrath is."

"Why..YOU !" At that, Envy stormed off in the direction of upstairs. Lust nodded in quiet approval. Envy was never one to lament the past. And that, admittedly, was strange territory for the woman. She was perplexed at this side of her brother, so she rekindled his envy. Simple enough. With that accomplished, she too headed upstairs.

_The work is never done._

The world went on turning on its tilted axis.


	11. Runt of the Litter 19, 20, 21

19

A sleek horse-drawn carriage sped across the puddle-strewn Central streets, barreling through the noisome main road. Dog carts and pedestrians cleared the way for the four horses tied to the carriage that stormed through. Vehicles in Central didn't stop for anyone and kicked mud, dust and trash in their wake as the unwieldy thing bounced and bucked along the main thoroughfare leading from the business district to the rest of the city.

"Hold…hold, I said hold, you impossible beasts!"" snapped the driver as the sweaty, angry horses ran wide around the corner and swung the carriage straight into the book vendor's storefront.

A tremendous crash, glass showering onto the sidewalk, the carriage's wheels spinning sadly on its bent axles and the citizen inside extracting himself and making quite a row.

"You call that driving? I should have you whipped!"

"I'm sorry, Master Ferguson, It won't happen again."

"It better not. I pay 300 cenz for an incompetent driver to smash into a bookstore? With that service, who needs vandals?"

The commotion by now had attracted a whole crowd in front of the broken window of the bookstore. A woman with wearing a red blouse and rust-colored skirt, with her light brown hair in a long braid came out of the still-intact door, and she came up to the carriage-rider and his driver, with a consoling look on her face.

"Oh, please, there's no need to make a fuss. The damage isn't all that bad. We need to replace that window, anyway."

The carriage-rider, a puffy red man with a whispy mustache and carrot beard, fumed and sputtered while the frustrated driver took it out on the horses. "Wait—what are you doing..?"

"Well I gotta take it out on someone!" the driver explained, bringing down his whip hard on the flank of the rear-most horse. It cried and bucked, trying to nurse the sting with its tail as the whip came down again.

"No need to take it out on the horses-you should be ashamed of yourself, attacking a helpless animal like that," the woman chided, anger in her voice..but also a gentleness. A strange gentleness. "Here's for your trouble." 1000 cenz.

"B-but ma'am—I broke your window, it should come outta my wage, right?"

As Bradley's own train—consisting of a black automobile pulled by two horses—that were sweating but not from over-exertion, but probably the inhuman presence that sat behind the driver-passed by the main thoroughfare, the Fuhrer rolled down the window to stick his head out.

To see the non-man, the girlfriend. And hear his voice. The anger that emanated from him from dawn to dusk suddenly—somehow—abated—he hadn't felt this strange, this unguarded since he was sleeping-it was-

Something…

He couldn't find the words for it..

He_ didn't_ know the words for it…

"Lieutenant Opfer," Bradley addressed his driver through the front window.

The aforementioned, apparently not used to being addressed by the Fuhrer, sat ramrod straight and turned his head back, so distracted that he almost lost a hold of the reins.

"Yessir?"

"Who is that man..the one who just came out of the bookstore?"

Opfer blinked, searched his head for a bit, scratched it, and then answered,

"Pardon me, Your Excellency, sir, but that's a woman. Her name's Josephine—Addle..Aller…something like that."

"A woman..?"

Bradley leaned back in the leather seat and scratched his chin. It was getting a lot clearer. Lust was a woman. The rebel he killed was a woman. Some lower ranking members of the military were woman. The one he now had his angry eye rooted on for as long as she remained within his sight was a woman.

_Non-man is woman._

And at that moment Wrath vowed that he would see her again.

20

That very night, Wrath exchanged the spotless military uniform for an attire that would let him be incognito, a white shirt and black trousers pulled over his boots. Arming himself with his sword, he jumped out the window and dashed into the night.

The business district was equally noisy at night as it was during the day—with some shops closing up for the night and a whole host of others just opening, most of them less savory locales. Wrath strode through the lamp-lit bustling business district, avoiding the people who poured around him like endlessly talkative liquid. Chatter, bump, a drunk human falling on his back which he angrily rotated and shoved the human off of him. Away from the familiar order and discipline of Central Command and the familiar home feeling of Father's lair, the chaos—not the bloody chaos of war but this infuriating mix of bodies and smells and cheap alcohol attacked his Homunculus sensibilities and by the time he reached the bookstore, he was in a high fury.

"Hello, welcome to Pennen & Partch Books."

It was the woman. She looked startled. "If you wouldn't mind, sir, could you leave your sword outside?"

Bradley had not even uttered one word yet. He was fixated on the woman,-he heard something about leaving—sword—what? "Excuse me? Sir?" Completely and utterly frozen. He stood there, slack-jawed, at an utter loss for words. At that point, the woman had enough. She strode right up to him and closed her hand on the hilt. Bradley jerked back, clamping the hilt protectively with his own hand.

His teeth clenched and hairless lips twisted, sweaty with fury.

"You're_making_me_angry."

The woman did not act at all as she did in front of the notable and his driver, understanding and compassionate. She punished the unreasonable man rapidly with a stinging slap across his face. She glared up at this rude clod. The nerve..!

"That makes us both. Get_out!"

Further conversation was fruitless at this point, and Wrath left the store rubbing his cheek and returned to the Command Center.

Envy snarled at the returning Fuhrer from the window, disguised as him.

"There you are! " Envy removed the appearance of the gross body—grosser than it had been twenty years before-Don't go running off like that—you know perfectly well I got better things to do than babysit your office, Wrath! Not to mention my ego is permanently damaged because I have to look like YOU and you've gotten so much uglier!" Envy stomped on the windowsill, yelling at the other Homunculus who looked particularly human for whatever reason, and nto because of his freakish aging. "Hurry up and get up your ass here!" Envy hissed. He yelled at his brother with heightened gusto—he had a happy note in his voice.

Wrath did that thing to his face again, and then crouching, he leaped up to the windowsill, at which point the both of them crowded the sill, and Envy got a good look at Wrath's face—a whole side was swollen and red. "What happened to you?" Envy asked with feigned disinterest. Wrath answered incoherently, and Envy grunted in a "save it" sort of way. They then slid past each other on the sill, one moving out, the other in, and Envy jumped out the window, leaving Wrath to think.

21

The day passed like most days had—with mind-melting regularity. Receive orders from Father-carry them out upstairs. The façade played out as usual. Live with the humans, tolerate their absurdities, attend to all the obligations of his human office.

At least he didn't have to _smile_ for them.

Wrath rarely smiled. His facial muscles had been constructed in such a way that that expression was difficult. A malicious grin—occasionally around his siblings, a smirk-but an honest, sincere smile…

What in the hell was that?

Another thing foreign to him-Until now, anyway-was

Distraction. He was always busy: signing off on state alchemist certification—overseeing campaigns, military funerals, secret meetings, sealing executions or exonerations depending on the dictates of Father, fixing the mistakes he had made before he had truly woken up-the bat chimera was the first to go, under state pretenses. He had no time to get distracted.

But..as his cheek healed, he found himself drifting off..Into a new, terrifying world of alternatives.


	12. Runt of the Litter 22, 23, 24

22

Wrath went to the place after his human obligations were over-not to report in with Father, not to seek refuge from the oppressive presence of the humans but to-

"Envy..how should a man greet a woman?."

Ask advice.

Envy drew back,startled, absorbed the significance, and then lunged forward with a grin. "What, Eyepatch?" Envy asked with his usual 'big' tone. At the question, he frowned, smiled, scratched his chin, dangled his feet, and finally laughed.

"Well that came out of nowhere. Why do you wanna know?"

Wrath didn't answer, but some inexplicable reason, he was red in the face—Envy's eyebrow cocked—he was evidently disturbed at Wrath's redness—at that moment he looked a lot like a human, whenever the stupid worms did something stupid. Envy didn't know a lot about humans—just enough so he could mimic them himself. Envy gave Wrath a weird stare between disgust and amusement. "Don't you think you're taking this wannabe human routine way too far?"

"As I thought, you're no help," Wrath walked by him, still red. Envy scowled behind him. In Wrath's younger days he would have killed him a couple times—but now—

_He's either gaga over some girl or the humans're rubbing off on him again._

_Hnh..well I guess I can give him a break. Maybe I feel sorry for him, or something._ "Compliment her appearance."

Wrath stopped in his usual soldierly way, said nothing at first. Then he about-faced. His lips upturned in a predatory grin. Envy mirrored Wrath with his own evil, toothy one.

_Oh, yeah, that's the Wrath I know!_ Envy laughed inwardly, as his brother's tread faded down the hallway towards Father's chamber. Curious, and bored, (no humans to torment or manipulate) the older Homunculus slipped down from the chimera grate and followed him.

Waves of rhythmic breathing radiated from Father's throne. Lust was on her way out of the chamber, that at the moment was not rumbling with Father's god-voice. It was rare that Father slept, but when he did it was a profound sleep that no racket made by man, beast, or the earth itself, could wake him.

"Lust." Wrath, red again—reflexively pulled on his uniform collar. Lust narrowed her eyes. Her brother didn't have his usual all-business tone, and that irked her, probably because she was in a rush herself. She felt something different pulsing off of Wrath—she didn't need Gluttony's unflattering nose to smell it. Sweat. He was warmer than usual. And he looked pathetic. She returned all these signals with a sharp exhale.

"What is it, Wrath?"

"Tell me about a woman's mind."

A beat. And then smooth, amused laughter, raising her unextended fingers in front of her lips. Unlike Envy she asked no questions.

_It's about time that Wrath found out about women. That he doesn't have a clue about them yet is pretty pitiful, if you ask me._

"A woman's mind…is a thing that's at the same time beautiful and deadly. A woman knows exactly what she wants and exactly how to get it. But she also doesn't say what's on her mind immediately..she'll hide it with smiles and lies, and she'll hang on a man's every word while plotting how can she best use her man to her advantage. A woman appreciates the finer things—chocolates, flowers. Only the finest will do. Don't forget these things when you visit a woman. If you do, she'll remember it. Don't ever forget her birthday, either. Women love to chatter endlessly about nothing. Listen to them or else you'll regret it. And make sure you call them after sex, or you won't get any. Speaking of sex, it's not all about you, so make sure you ask a woman where she wants to be touched so you can give her the maximum amount of pleasure…"

"Lust, I can't remember all of this…!" Wrath cut her off, knocking on the side of his head with his palm while squinting his right eye. Lust tilted her chin upward, smiling in satisfaction.

"Just do your best, Wrath." She brushed her fingers on her chin, regarding her little brother—that now looked older than her by a few years—(unsettling)- curiously. "I take it you already met a woman if you're asking me this. So..how'd It go?"

"She slapped me."

At the mention of Wrath in pain, Envy emerged out of nowhere, excitement and delight etched in every muscle.

"OHHHH? So THAT'S what happened!" Envy cackled, bouncing in on the conversation. "What did you tell her/?"

"I told her she made me angry."

Envy burst out laughing, rolling backward on the floor in hysterics. Father was sleeping, so he was as loud as the hell he wanted. Lust sighed and placed a finger on the crease on her forehead.

"Soldier-boy doesn't have gentleman in his vocabulary. So-" Envy grinned snidely, shoving his tree-head forward. "You gonna try again?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I?"

Wrath's voice was irritated. It made Envy happy. Riding on the foul mood of his brother, Envy's grin just got wider, his movements more animated. He slung an arm around Wrath's stiff back, starkly opposed to Wrath's rigid posture, rigid with anger. Envy jabbed a thumb at his torso, tugging Wrath close.

"Good. 'Cause I'm 'gonna go with you and watch you get slapped."

Wrath darkened to black, but his older brother gleefully pursued as Wrath shook him off and headed for the surface.

23

The woman was busy shelving the day's shipment when the bell rang on the door. The window was still broken, a testament to the inefficiency of the glass company, but she had the night shift—no threat from burglars in that case. The proprietor had put her on the night shift for that reason. A kind woman. A gentle woman. But a force to be reckoned with. Josephine Adler, priginally from Dublith. She moved to Aquaroya, a glitzy city that was unfortunate enough to be sinking into the bay. No prospects there. From there, she moved to Central.

"Hold down the fort here, Josephine." An old man, the owner. "It's a shame you'll be leaving tomorrow. We'll miss you here."

Josephine turned to the owner with a genial smile, climbing down from the ladder, leaning against the Scientific Romance section. In her hand was a copy of Stewart Huller's bestseller, _Artificial Human. _

"I know, you were especially good to me, and I thank you for that, Mr. Saunders."

The old man tilted his head and stroked his beard.

"You know, Josephine, I've seen you sneaking a few ganders at that book. I think I might just have to give it to you as a parting gift."

"Oh, no, Mr. Saunders, you don't have to.."

"No, no, Josephine, I insist."

The bell in the door rang once more. In walked a customer—a tall, well-built man wearing an eyepatch and..

_Not again. _

Josephine put the book down on the ladder, weaved her way through the bookshelves and towards the highly unwelcome man. Mr. Saunders greeted the customer on his way out, not knowing what had transpired between his employee and the customer. The bell rang once again before it shut, filling the bookstore with a tense silence.

"What do you want?" she asked curtly. The door flew open this time, and another customer rushed in, sweating and gasping for air. The man with the eyepatch-he didn't have his sword this time, thank heavens, but his very presence set Josephine's mild demeanor on edge and she stood cold against him. The newcomer looked like he was waiting for something, but Josephine didn't pay any mind to him. Only the man with the eyepatch, who opened his mouth with the most fearsome grin she had ever seen on the face of another human being, a grin more appropriate to prowlers and unruly men.

"Your ass is more beautiful than the ripest melons."

Josephine turned a deep shade of scarlet. Her hands receded into herself, she looked down, fiddled with her skirts. Then she drew her hand back and cracked it against the grinning man's cheek, whereupon the customer started laughing uncontrollably, pounding his fist against the bookshelf with glee. The man grabbed his face again, his features drenched in confusion while the customer bawled laughing.

Josephine's eyes were hard.

Wrath was too stunned to bother thinking about why the Ultimate Eye had failed to predict the oncoming attack.

_What should I do?_

_She's going to tell me to leave again. _

Wrath thought hard. What did humans do in this situation? He thought back to his subordinates, trying to remember some gesture, some word they said when they had done something wrong..Josephine was about to shout him out of the bookstore when a memory flashed. Ironically, it was to the dying rebel. Hawkeye. He borrowed the same words she had used, the phrase coming awkwardly out of his mouth. "I'm….sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

Josephine exhaled, startled. The man was uncouth, bizarre, and she had to admit a little frightening, but…

That apology..and how he was hunched slightly, lost as to what to do next. Josephine folded her hands and gave a smile.

It was the first time a human smiled at him from this close, and the intent was different too. It wasn't to kiss ass—(he had seen that too often –either the humans to each other or the humans to him—and as with nearly all things the humans did, he hated.) – Or to conceal some other emotion – It was a bare, naked smile.

Wrath scrunched his face up in his best imitation of a smile—it turned out lopsided, incomplete. So much so that the 'customer' stopped laughing and cringed. Wrath became conscious that the smile was not right, and he fell into a deep gloom.

Which was when Wrath felt a hand on his swelling cheek—the same hand that had slapped him earlier. The intent of the contact was different. Electric..but in a different way. Fear-inspiring, though she intended him no further harm. He twitched. She was still smiling, as if to say that it was okay that his smile was awkward as hell.

_Somehow I have the feeling you don't smile too often. _

And as Envy blinked in confusion, Wrath's unconcealed right eye and the human's eyes truly locked for the first time.

24

"You say he is getting…'married'."

'That's right. Practically the whole stinking city's turning out for it. Big deal, their Fuhrer getting married."

Grim.

"Why did he not tell me?"

"He was thinking you'd be against it, Father. After all, you never taught him about 'human social norms', his words exactly."

""The cake must be tasty.." Gluttony chimed in, the white circles in his head lifting up with his fat head as he faced upstairs. "Can I eat—"

"No."

Worried.

"Wrath is marrying like a normal human….I never expected this..he will then live with his woman? What about his tasks?"

"You should ask him yourself. He's up there, now."

Acquiescent.

"…No need. As long as his connection to his human woman does not interfere with his ability to carry out the plans then I will allow it."

The earthquaking voice of Father again died down as he dismissed the trio. As Lust walked abreast of her brother, her black locks clinging to her white shoulders, she asked conversationally,

"So, Envy, are you going?"

Snap.

"What? Hell, no! Wrath and his wife can get bent!"

Envy slouched, his fist in a ball and shaking as if diseased.

…_.I want to find someone, too…_


	13. Runt of the Litter 25, 26, 27

25

The throng watching the wedding was massive. Anyone who existed—aside from prisoners, foreigners, beasts, or the dead, were there to watch Fuhrer King Bradley and Josephine Adler join in holy matrimony. Roy, rounder than ever, was more preoccupied with the small explosion he had produced, amusing himself and perfecting his art at the same time. What else to do with so many giants towering above you, as he was a really short teenager. Roy was accompanied by Chris Mustang and Berthold Hawkeye and young Riza Hawkeye, and all three generations of the Mustang family that took up most of the green lawn on which the wedding took place, much to the chagrin of some dwellers who hailed as far away as Xenotime. Next to the Mustang horde, Pinako Rockbell and her husband, and their children and a newborn Winry Rockbell endured the summer heat to watch the wedding. A silly-looking jester of a young man—Maes Hughes, a few years older than Roy—along with his mild-mannered girlfriend, also attended. A certain renowned alchemist and his wife and newborns were absent. The civilian population massed behind and around the military—of which there were the prestigious Armstrong family and their young, admantine-faced daughter, already a Major, and their baby-head of a son, with his conspicuous blonde curl atop a bald head. Lt. Colonel Basque Gran, a well-known alchemist, stood near the front. Major Archer, a young man with a shrewd demeanor and a content smile, and a new enlisted man named Zolof—(odd name and odd young man who loved fireworks) stood in the ranks watching the priest—who had journeyed here all the way form Lior-to wed the couple. The new Mrs. Josephine Bradley had her parents, younger brother, and a few cousins in attendance. It did not escape the citizenry's attention that none of the Fuhrer's relatives had come to the wedding.

Rumors were that he didn't have any.

26

1909

Amestris.

Of golden fields and verdant forests.

The country had expanded to a size never thought possible. It incorporated many of the former territories of Creta, Aerugo, Drachma, and now Ishbal. The remaining populations of those countries had been dispersed and relocated.

Was born a people strong and true.

Alchemical advances were harnessed to its full potential by the military. The top brass made stirring speeches in the name of the country while Fuhrer Bradley looked on, aloof. At a raise of his hand, the young men sacrificed their bodies to the enemy cannons, guns, hatchets. The Fuhrer, at his advanced age and at so crucial a time, could no longer be expected to lead the troops into battle. And no one expected him to.

With qualities high and noble.

Condemned prisoners that might be useful he signed off on their "execution" and transference to the Fifth Laboratory. There, with his full knowledge their souls were alchemically bonded to new bodies. Black ops units that were dispatched as agitators were properly silenced. Researched surged on to create the Phillosopher's Stone, the generals seeking immortality and everyone, with the last strand of dissidence stamped out, was eager to be led by the hand. No one saw the hand holding the Fuhrer's, but really..what did that matter? Everyone drank up the pageant like water.

With which no other country is blessed.

So Father had willed it. So it would be done.

27

The humans had taught him many things, and for his part in the plan, he learned how to use this against them.

"Why, good morning Major Mustang."

The round-headed alchemist with the Xingese appearance saluted with his gloved hand, showing the Fuhrer the proper deference.

At this point in his life, the Homunculus had grown a full, moustache appropriate to gentlemen. To keep up appearances, of course. Wrinkles aside on his skin that had turned brown as he had grown older, thick body aside with the block-shaped head with the massive nose, prominent forehead, he looked incredibly vigorous for his 55 years. Not only did he only look vigorous. He was. Muscles built from his martial life and his inhuman construction guarded against the flab and bloatedness that naturally afflicts the aged. All of his faculties worked perfectly. His back had never given out on him—and he maintained the same posture that he had as a youth—either proud and straight or hulking and predatory—no bent spine, no shrinking. And his hair—it retained the same style and volume it had when he was a youth. It was still black.

He smiled.

_I learned that one from Josephine._

"Fuhrer Bradley, sir!"

_It keeps me above suspicion—not that you lot were very sharp to begin with. _

_No one expects a smile to mean something other than a smile._

_You, however. I can smell your ambition. _

The smiling mustached man produced a melon from behind him and offered it to the Major.

"Have some melons! They're good for long life."

_Admirable, but a futile pursuit._

Mustang looked surprised, held out his gloved hands, then saluted.

_For I do not run this country._

"Thank you, sir!"

Mustang saluted again, bringing his heels together, and marched off down the hallway of Central Command—a little brighter due to the electric lights now powering the city. Behind the patch, the Ultimate Eye narrowed. He sensed this alchemist would be trouble. The same went for the daughter of the rebel. Bradley's hidden Eye magnified the low-ranking soldier, a young woman with short blonde hair and grave hazel eyes, as she passed by the Major. The offspring of the human he had killed—he recognized the family name as soon as she entered the military.

_A grievous error. She should have concealed herself._

As for her father—he and his brothers and sister had, incognito of course, hounded Berthold Hawkeye to turn his skills to their favor—but to no avail. And though the rebel's daughter had no knowledge of the precise circumstances of her mother's death, he surmised the girl wasn't stupid—it was public knowledge that her mother had rebelled against the state and that she perished fighting the state military.

_I know you humans._ _You enlisted to avenge your mother._

Bradley's Eye retracted from the woman and fixed it once again on the back of the Major. He knew what that seemingly non-threatening—slightly slouching, laid-back figure hid. The shrewd man recognized another shrewd man.

_And you're aligning with Mustang. You couldn't make your intentions more obvious_.

_But they are cautious. _

Caution..he liked that in humans. Normally they were so quick to throw themselves into the line of fire. But. He had identified them as potential threats to Father's Plan, and now…

_Watch your back, Flame Alchemist._

Mustang disappeared around the corner and thus out of the range of the Ultimate Eye. The moment he and Hawkeye left he dropped his mask, into a grave, intent scowl.

_I am certainly watching yours._


	14. Runt of the Litter 28

28

The humans, low-ranking Central soldiers attending Wrath pulled off his white regulation overcoat as he stepped through the door of the Bradley manor—a modest (compared to the Armstrong estate, anyway) mansion nestled inside Central but away from the crowded apartments and din of the city. Just one of the many borrowed possessions that the state had given him when he had become Fuhrer. He hadn't used it much until he married Josephine. Now the manor was his permanent residence.

And a refuge away from his yoke.

Oh, surely, that's what every ruler said, right? They needed a refuge away from the pressures, the stress, of ruling a state, and indulged in costly excess to relieve that stress.

He just had a little bit more stress than the average ruler, that was all.

The Homunculus had retired to the manor whenever possible. To see her.

"Welcome home, darling," a now-aged Josephine embraced her husband around his thick, muscular neck, the man with the funny name (she often joked with him about it—Fuhrer President King seemed like overkill) with his war wound that he'd never let her see. Still stiff and formal, but over time, she with her gentleness had stirred the heart within that chest made for war and made it beat to a human rhythm—which she understandably assumed was so difficult because of his military background.

He placed his bristly lips to hers, lingering in the moment long and deep. Bradley was not one to shower her with kisses, but when he kissed her, it was violent, volcanic, and his embrace around her back and waist was not tight, but a vicegrip. He would approach her and do this while reading, while in the kitchen preparing dinner, (when the cook had the day off) a ritual she had gotten used to and anticipated when her husband came home. The inevitable would follow—and even then in the throes of the hottest passion Bradley refused to remove his eyepatch.

She was tempted sometimes, but ultimately she did not lift up the scrap of cloth that sealed her husband's—well, it might as well have been half of his soul.

But the result of such depths of ecstasy was always, terribly the same.

"Could it be..that I'm barren, King?" she asked, through unashamedly tearful eyes. Her slightly wrinkled hands were clasped in her lap, her still-light brown hair falling over her shoulder in the same braid she wore fifteen years ago.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps I am infertile."

Perhaps? _I am._

In this haven, Wrath learned many things about humans that he found delightful. Almost..sometimes..occasionally..

_Maybe humans are superior._

A sad silence. At that point she would straighten up, unfold her hands, dry her eyes, and look into that one gray-blue eye of his.

"It doesn't matter. Maybe we can adopt."

She really yearned for children.

He always remained noncommittal on this point. Wrath could not stand the wailing of a child.

It felt..good. To not feel furious. To not feel the burning urge to rend humans apart with his blade.

The only place where he Wrath, could sleep.

And some of this..husband..thing was still an act. Reading the newspaper—he was scanning for potential hindrances to the Plan. Enduring house guests woke him up again. Interacting with the attendants/bodyguards irritated him. And with the maid. And the cook. And the cook's children whenever they came to visit their parent. The neighbors across the street would cause bedlam precisely at the time that he came home. And then there was the phone..

"Oh, is that so? Deliver the files to Room G18."

"Whhaaa? Report to Father?"

Wrath clapped his hand on the receiver and looked over his shoulder into the other room. Josephine was reading that book again, _Artificial Human_ and did not appear to hear Gluttony's blaring voice.

"No, _Gilbert._ Deliver the files_to_room_G18."

"….WOOOHHHH!"

Click.

_Even in this place I cannot sleep. _

Wrath slammed the phone back into the wall.

"..Dear, don't break the phone, please."

"..Sorry, darling," Bradley smiled, reaching behind his head and rubbing his hair with his heavy wrist, making it fuzzy.

The apology was sincere. In the manor he wanted to keep his true nature concealed from her. Not only for the Plan, but-

_Because she shouldn't know about such things_, Wrath thought as he strode away from the phone and into the living room where Josephine was fixated on the book_. Let me be only a fairy tale to her._

_It's simpler that way._

_If she knew that I was fake-_

Wrath blinked, catching himself in his absurd thought.

_What? That I'm a Homunculus? Where has my pride gone? I am a Homunculus, superior to a human. Why should I measure myself by human standards?_

Sweating, he peered around the doorframe at Josephine. She sitting tranquilly there—reading, no plots, no schemes, just growing old with him, for surely he did not forget the circumstances of his creation—he was getting older. Just like a human.

_Being so similar to them, shouldn't I accept them?_

He climbed the stairs and crossed the entrance into their bedroom. Next to the bed a full-length mirror leaned up against the painted walls. He removed his eyepatch and the alchemical sound of the Ultimate Eye bounced against the walls. He stood there, looking at himself, holding his eyepatch in his fingers by the strap.

He judged the figure in the mirror to be superior to humans—stronger, swifter, and unhampered by the innumerable emotions that plagued the pathetic creatures. Father said so. He praised their glowing eyes shining with the Philosopher's Stone, the darkness radiating off of them, their single-mindedness of purpose.

And yet..

He felt..intimidated by the humans. .

Even to her..by his kind, loving wife—he felt _inferior_.

The snake on his eye, looking back at him reminded him he was alchemically created.

_A copy of a human. _

Wrath lashed out with his fist. The glass tore and plunged onto the hardwood and straight in his arm, lacerating the flesh and muscle.

This is just how it was like, then. The same damn thing all over again..

_Ridiculous..doubting the superiority of my species. _

_Once again..I've gotten soft…_

_These humans..they'll be the death of me. Making me want to be like them—idiotic. I'm not Envy. I'm Wrath…!_

"WRATH."

The blood dripped freely out of his arm, staining the finely-crafted floorboards. Josephine and the maid came rushing into the bedroom. She dismissed the maid, who obeyed and left, thudding across the hallway. Not expecting her intrusion, Wrath scrambled to put on Bradley, leaking blood in large droplets. They rolled down the forearm and turned to rivulets as he moved his lacerated arm to his face and once again hid his Eye.

"You're damned right there will be wrath, King—what in heaven's name did you do to your arm?...!" Josephine stood in the doorway, mad, her hands planted on her hips and her eyes flashing fury, her voice stern, wearing a wrath that layered a substratum of fear and sorrow. She ran out of the room and fetched a bowl of water and wrappings. Wrath stood there, confused, shrugging off his bloody, glass-pincushioned arm, the only indication that it hurt him was that his right eye squinted and his teeth were clenched. Again, a small wound that didn't trigger his regenerative ability. He began to walk out towards the door—when a human storm crashed in, armed with the dressings. She firmly gripped her husband's bloody limb and glared murder at him when he started to pull away in protest. "Sit_still," the wife commanded the husband. The icy chill of Josephine's voice managed to freeze the mighty Wrath in place. She surveyed the damage, removing the visible shards with her own hands, drawing a twitch and grunts of pain from the fool of a man. She pulled the arm towards her, dousing it in alcohol and dressing the wound inexpertly, but with the utmost care. The older man's face changed. His normally imposing, dignified mustache looked adolescent. His heavy wrinkles creasing on his face proved that age and wisdom did not necessarily go hand-in-hand. As Josephine wrapped up Bradley's arm, he was left without words or protest.

At that moment, as Wrath looked into the human eyes of his wife, he felt..okay with it. He felt fine that he was a Homunculus and that she was a human. That they were husband and wife. That they were man and woman.

_I don't understand..but the distinctions don't seem all that important._ Josephine drew Wrath, Bradley, King Bradley, Fuhrer, number 12, closer to her. He came close to telling her. He didn't, but rather than feeling compelled to keep the secret, not out of shame or fear, he felt that he simply didn't need to.

But number 12's yoke weighed heavy.

_If I do…I'd have to kill her._

_Even her. _

So they just held each other, the red seeping through the tightly-wound bandages, Josephine's nose buried in her husband's neck, nuzzling him, and In turn he rubbed his cheek against hers, cherishing this human, an unremarkable creature that crawled up to tottering on shaky feet and returned to the earth in the same way.

And this human was beautiful.

Wrath broke the embrace at the sound of a wail—for some reason it didn't stir the anger in him.

"There's someone outside. Lets see what it's about, shall we?"

"Oh, you have such good ears, dear," Josephine unstuck her brow and she disentangled from his grip. They walked down the stairs after each other to the first level of the manor, the chandelier in the foyer casting a shadow on the tiles.

Bradley put his hand on the doorknob and pulled the heavy oak door open. The reactions of the couple could not be more at variance with each other. While Josephine wore an expression of tender elation, Bradley's brow flooded with sweat.

On the doorstep, was a dirty child, wailing, his globular eyes tearing up, the salt water dribbling down his fat cheeks and cutting through the patches of dirt on the child's face. Josephine, kind soul as she was, was moved.

"Oh, King…look at this poor child..!"

Wrath was rooted to the spot, as if he had—hypothetically- been transmuted from the remains of a dead human and then forced to stare into the corpse. He was paralyzed with the gaze of the wailing child. "Lets get him cleaned up." Josephine stooped over and gazed level at him, concern on her wrinkled face. "I'll have the cook make something for him—" Josephine stared down at the child, crying on the patio again, and changed her mind. "No, I'll fix something for him. Can you clean him up, King?"

"Mm," Wrath muttered, robotically extracting one foot from the floor and then the other, hulking, frozen stiff, staring at the child with the utmost look of horror on his face.

"King, why are you looking at him as if he were a leper? Get him into the tub," Josephine insisted. Wrath knew that tone well. He wasn't going to win this battle. Even so, he held the dirty kid until Josephine was out of sight, and then he abruptly dropped the child onto his rump.

"Alright, upstairs, boy, now,." Wrath ordered the child, who continued crying as he rubbed the sore spot. He rubbing his leaking eyes all the way up the staircase. The second he shut the door, Wrath gripped the child around his "brittle", dirt-covered neck. "What are you_doing here, Pride?"

"Now is that anyway to greet your older brother…now son?"

"You're not_my_child!" Wrath raised his voice, clamping down tighter.

"Apparently, any prolonged contact with humans of a non-martial character leads you hopelessly off the path." Artificial bones cracked lightly under the enraged grip of the bigger Homunculus. "Careful, Wrath," the Homunculus warned, his lips curled in a serene smile. "Your human woman wouldn't take too kindly to you anymore if you hurt me."

"We both know you can't be wounded that easily. Hell, I wouldn't know if you even **bleed**." Incensed, the Homunculus hefted the other easily, striding towards the window.

"The weakness of your intellect never fails to amaze me, Wrath. Go ahead. Throw me out the window. He smirked, soft face creased with a sly, manipulative smile. "Naturally, that won't leave a dent in my body. But your human will definitely hear the glass breaking,"

Wrath's jaw was hard, his teeth flashing, his face contorted in bloody, red rage.

"I'm dirty, father." The boy giggled maliciously. "Give me a bath."

Wrath acquiesced. He stuffed the drain plug into the hole and wrenched on the faucet handle. The spout rattled as the water jet blasted into the tub. Pride peeled off his dirty shreds of clothes and dropped them in a pile on the floor. He climbed into the tub, waiting for the basin to fill up, that same placid smile on his face. Wrath picked up the bar of soap from the tub.

"Right. Of course," Bradley rolled up his shirt sleeves and put his hands on the boy. And with a swift press he had forced him underwater. Pride's narrowed eyes stared at him intently from under the water, a few bubbles escaping from his mouth to the surface. The boy was unfazed.

"Nice..try, Wrath," Pride bubbled. Several minutes passed. He wasn't running out of air. The spout thundered into the water, raising the depth of the water, pushing the water up to Wrath's elbows, tight with red fury. "Oh, look..the mean man is trying to drown me. What's a helpless boy to do?"

The shadows crawled out from underneath the submerged boy.

_Hah, the same maneuver again, Pride? _

Wrath retreated, dodging the lashing shadows but at the same time freeing

Pride from his grip. The shadows nearly hit their mark, striking off the eyepatch that dropped from Wrath's face onto the floor. The diminutive Homunculus broke out of the water, the unhampered shadows striking at Wrath from the wall. Miss, miss, another miss. Pride quirked his mouth.

A stalemate..unless..

Pride retracted his shadows. Wrath was still tensed, but the sudden disappearance of Pride's weapons threw him off. The split-second was all that Pride needed to scoop up the overflowing bathwater and fling it in the other Homunculus's Eye. _Got you_. Water penetrated the Ultimate Eye, causing Wrath to wince but nothing more…nothing more, except the second where he could neither attack nor defend. The shadows seized him by the throat, crushing his airway.

"Come in, brother. The water's perfect."

Like ebony snakes the shadows whipped backwards and plunged Wrath's head into the overflowing tub. "You had the right idea. However, unlike you, Wrath, I have countless souls in my body. By Father's count..you have two left." As Wrath's torso flailed and struggled above the water, Pride held his head underneath, lifting his chin in satisfaction as Wrath struggled to get air and struggled against the shadows in futility. As all the Homunculi did. He was Pride, the strongest. There was no other outcome.

Minutes dragged on, Wrath's head still underwater.

Then it lay still. Pride grinned in quiet triumph. He observed in finality, "One."

The last soul in Wrath ignited and once again he began struggling again. "I'm disappointed, Wrath. You've gotten weaker since the last time. Is it truly your old age…?" Pride mused. "Or your pathetic longing to be human?" he accused. "Perhaps it's the weakness of a Homunculus created from a human..you seek to return to who you were…disgraceful. Well, you only have one soul..I suppose that's as human as you will ever get."

He only heard Pride's speech distorted, through the wall of the water. But he felt the sneer, the self-righteous questioning of his pride as a Homunculus. Another snap. Wrath gathered his focus, reassessed the situation, and shot his hands towards Pride's neck. A swift jerk broke it—he mended immediately after but not quickly enough to stop Wrath from unsheathing his sword. Now with his weapon of choice, Wrath shred the shadows gripping his neck, and he came up for air with a heavy gasp and heavier from wet hair and clothes. He lunged for Pride, already shooting out more shadows directly at the other Homunculus, behind him, from under and over him. The future sight of the Ultimate Eye combined with Wrath's Homunculus agility and dexterity—as soon as he started dodging, he already positioned himself for an attack—turning retreats into strikes. The moment Pride's shadow struck from above Wrath evaded and then evaded again with a jump. Another wave of shadows struck, and he parried and slashed, thrust and blocked. One shadow whipped and knocked the faucet off. Another flood of water in Wrath's face and Pride had him underwater again.

The Ultimate Eye focused and refocused underwater, perceiving the individual water molecules, the plug, the water draining-that was it. He grabbed the chain and yanked it, the water whirling down the drain. The falling water dropped a sopping Wrath onto the tub floor, and Pride couldn't see his target anymore. The shadows weakened, and Wrath regained the upper hand, leaping up from the tub and cleaving Pride in two—as he expected, no damage, except for a split right down the center of his unclothed body. The second he had sliced he twisted the edge from facing the floor to the side. In the same motion he hacked apart the other Homunculus to zigzag ribbons in a myriad of strokes that would appear as one to the human eye-

"Yes..there you are, Wrath. You only have one soul left. Lets stop playing."

"Playing?.! I am defending my home from a prowler," Wrath snarled, slashing the Homunculus again and again, small bloodless cuts appearing wherever he dragged his blade across Pride's skin.

"Unfortunately for you, your Ultimate Eye is like a camera fixed inside your head. Perhaps you would have a chance if it gave you a bird's-eye-view of the entire situation. Thus you can only react to the next move." Pride lazily smiled as Wrath fumed. "And that annoying motion-predictor built into the Ultimate Eye…it does not work if your opponent is faster than you." The shadows resurged and lunged at Wrath with such speed it appeared invisible. Wrath snapped open his Eye and zoomed in to his periphery—he dodged the shadow narrowly, that shot to the wall and then, still invisible, turned back on itself and in the same motion swept down while two more rushed in from the top. In a split-second, without obliging Wrath to face the oncoming threat coming from below, the Eye detected the shadow's trajectory from the bottom and immediately refocused to the ceiling. Wrath leaped to the side. No time to land. Pride forced him to hit the floor as the shadows sharpened to a fine point and stabbed in an impenetrable razor wall above his head. His normal eye was fixed on the wall of shadows while his Eye pinpointed the lances of undetectable shadows striking on both sides of his rolling body simultaneously. Again, while face-down, the Eye refocused on the main body of the enemy and caught the shadows curving in to attack again—like a projectile rocketing towards a camera lens, Wrath saw the shadow coming directly at it, though his other eye only saw the floor and the wall of shadows trapping him. "Are you done yet?" Before the shadow points were halfway towards its deadly target, one of the shadow walls arched back above his head. His eye saw the shadows retract into his blind spot and the Eye pinpointed the shadow blades fling above his head. Wrath seized the chance and rolled into the door, the shadow striking at where his skull was a moment before. His Eye saw that. The immediate threat, invisible to his eye and inches away from his Ultimate Eye that rolling had snatched a precious few inches of distance, enough distance for Wrath to fling his sword straight through the shadows and straight into the main body's skull, the tip splitting the wall and pinning Pride-again, no damage, but the boy was surprised. From the second Wrath had released his sword he rushed Pride, clearing distance between him and the shadow reaching out his arm to regain control of his sword as Wrath saw through his Eye an impassable black mass thick with eyes and grinning teeth walled off his escape. The man's fingers clutched the pommel, tearing it out of Pride's head to deal with the invisible shadow wall-

A knock at the door.

"How are my boys doing?"

In an instant the shadows were gone, Wrath sheathed his sword, reached across the bathroom to grab the black scrap which he pulled back on his head, ripped a towel off the rack and bundled Pride in it, caging his anger and forcing his genial, human persona through. It was easier for Pride, having hundreds of years to have honed the art of human innocence to a flawless edge.

Josephine opened the door to a pleasant sight: her soggy husband drying off the

glowing little boy. In her hands was a tray of food and some clothes draped over her arm. "Oh, look how well you're getting along already!" Josephine beamed. "King, here are his clothes.."

Wrath smiled at Josephine, smiled, smiled. For her the smile was genuine, but underneath, Wrath and Pride read each other's true intents even though their thoughts were masked under their silence.

_I'm going to dress you. Feed you. And then you're leaving. You're not staying with us_. "Oh, King…why don't we call him…Selim? Selim is a nice name."

_NO…_

_She's buying it._

"We can let him live with us and raise him as our own child." Her eyes glistened, watching him tenderly. "Finally…our own son…"

_Pride..you conniving wretch…_

"Yes. It's wonderful," Bradley ripped the words slowly out of his mouth. "Just like we always_wanted."

Perhaps normally Josephine might have detected something was wrong, but she was overcome with joy, with tears..

"Will you finish dressing him, King? Then we can have our first meal as a family. I can't believe it, it's a miracle." She took a step onto the slippery floor and kissed Bradley. She leaned over to kiss the child, but Wrath blocked her in a way that it didn't look like he was unreasonably obstructing her movement.

"Of course, dear. We will come join you, soon."

Twinge. "I'll be waiting in the dining room!" Josephine smiled, and walked out of the bathroom.

"See? She has given me a human name. That's significant, isn't it? You know humans better than me, after all."

"You bastard…" The drenched Homunculus growled, his black mustache, drooping from the water flaring as he ground his teeth together. "Father sent you, didn't he?.!"

"Father has entrusted me with the task of seeing that you don't fall asleep again, Wrath."

Bradley pulled the shirt roughly onto his brother's head—his 'son's head. He recoiled. The boy smirked the whole time. Wracked with frustration, Wrath let his proud, upright frame slump in defeat.

_Even here I am not my own master._ "From now on I'll be watching you."

He could hold his own against his brother in combat. As the bigger container, he could throw his weight around in a way that Pride couldn't. But the latter was second to none at manipulation. He was more than shrewd. He was intelligent, ancient, and in this battle, he had defeated Wrath a hundred times over. And made his refuge a prison.

Wrath finished dressing Selim. The distant future was inaccessible to Wrath as he could only see what was directly in front of him, but as he took the hand of the smug boy, who feigned a perfect cherubic smile, he could only see an endless track with rails laid out for him as he walked so that he could not deviate.

_If this is how my life is, and how it will be, what's the point?_

Bradley led Selim out of the bathroom and down the hallway, his tread as if weighed down by steel weights while his 'son's' steps were feather-light as he skipped down the hall. Even without human eyes on him he was already playing the part. Wrath mused, as he guided Selim down the steps. _How many souls do I have left? One, right? Just like a human._

_I could do it now. _

Walk, walk, walk.

Wrath gazed down at his the shirt covering his stomach. A muscled, powerful, tank-like stomach, but as cut as easily as any human's.

I'm almost at the dining room. Pride wouldn't dare show his true form to her.

He led Selim to the dining room, where Josephine was waiting. Wrath had his hand on his sword. He gripped it, his resolve steeled and would not be softened. Having caused so much death he was not afraid of it himself. But then, as they rounded the wall Josephine came into his view. His slitted eye widened, softened. He didn't do it.

_There's still her._

_She has made my life worth living._

"Come in and eat before it gets cold, dears!"

_So I will live for her._

The two Homunculi sat at the table with the human. Pride's perfect facade debased Wrath's, and he sourly cut the steak, hacking it with his knife and fork.

"King, are you alright?"

Wrath gathered up his façade amidst chewing a mouthful of meat, concealing his glare at Pride, who devoured the celery and the leeks, gulping up the meat, lying through his teeth, playing the starving, grateful foundling. Their 'son' was lying to her, feigning everything.

_Bastard..I only keep my identity from her, but you couldn't care less about Josephine and you're worming your way into her heart, Pride._ "Poor child.., eat as much as you like. Selim. My son," At that Josephine moved from her seat—strange to do in such a household of high station where decorum was expected during dinner—(she normally didn't even make dinner, that was the cook's job) but defying convention she scooped up the boy into her arms, caressing his hair and his head, kissing his brow. At that, Wrath quirked an eyebrow.

Pride, not the boy, recoiled at the human touch… _Ah-hah…_Wrath zeroed in on the crack in the façade_. That's right..this is the first time you've had human contact, Pride._ A smile flashed on Wrath's face. In between Josephine's arm and the table, Wrath saw Pride scowl.

_You came here to wake me up, without taking into account that this human woman might put you to sleep. Even your pride cannot stand up to the kindness of my wife._

_In that case, I'll assist her into putting you to sleep._

Wrath flashed a predatory grin that disappeared under a flurry of fatherly affection. He pushed his chair back and got up, moving towards Selim. He placed his big hand on his hair and ruffled it. The gesture marred Pride's features with repugnance. His brother—disturbingly enough- and— the human petting him –

_What sort of power is this..? I feel..so…_Pride glared up at fatherly Wrath, who was squishing Pride's cheeks with his hand. The purple death-glare. _What did she do to me, Wrath? What are you doing to me…?_

Wrath went on smiling, tousling Selim's hair as Josephine showered him with caresses. Pride struggled in futility against this strange form of attack, against which he had absolutely no defense.

_Now..now I see. _

The Homunclus grasped and reached to try and get out of his 'mother's' grasp, his little brother sneaking a leer at him from above.

"Welcome to our home, Selim," Bradley smiled down, resting his hand attached to the still-bandaged arm on Pride's head again.

_The war is not over Pride. _

_You came here with the intention of preventing me from getting too close to the humans and losing sight of my purpose. _

_But you had no idea how corrupted I had gotten, did you?_

_So I intend to help Josephine corrupt you as well._

"Th-thank you, Father, Mother!"

_Wrath, why_you…_

Josephine glowed with pride, as the two Homunculi waged their secret battles under her nose. One bent on preserving his inhumanity, the other bent on breaking it down.

Josephine kissed the wincing Pride again.

"You boys have fun, now!." Josephine took the cleared plates and headed to the kitchen.

"Oh, Mrs. Bradley..I'll take those," stated the maid, engaging Josephine for the moment.

Bradley and Selim had moved to the living room, inside which was a Cretan rug, a few tables, a bookshelf, a teapot on the table. H poured himself some and raised the blend in the air, aimed at Selim. Mocking him.

"What is this new ability that you've acquired?" Pride hissed low and sharp at Wrath's back, straightening his ruffled hair roughly. This was the most irritated Wrath had seen Pride. Ever. And as Envy indulged in Wrath being helpless, Wrath indulged in Pride being the same way.

"Your mother taught it to me."

The hiss was sharp, sibilant.

"She's not my mother. Homunculi don't have mothers!"

Pride balled his little fists.

"Oh? Losing your composure, Pride? I didn't know you were capable of that," Bradley grinned, his gravel voice edged with triumph. He sipped his tea from the cup. Finished, he placed it on the table and stood in front of his small older brother.

Wrath rubbed Pride's head—the hair on which that he had just gotten straightened.

"..Shut..shut up!"

So filled with consternation over the human touch.

"Mind your volume, **son**," he smiled.

Pride responded with a dropped lower lip. And then his jaw set, issuing a little crack. It wasn't used to that—he hadn't moved his face this much in hundreds of years. "Tell me…Father," The façade down, the hateful word crawling out with difficulty between his lips. "What is this power that your human has? I have never felt..so..helpless..!"

"It is not unique to Josephine…But of all the humans I have encountered this trait is particularly pronounced in her."

Incredulous.

"Impossible…a human being a better manipulator than a Homunculus..?"

Pride stood with his jaw loose, his feet grinding into the forest green of the rug.

"It's not manipulation, Pride," Wrath answered back, his eye intent. Earnest. "She truly loves you."

Pride recoiled.

Bradley added, "With her it is sincere. But to me against you, big brother, it will only be a tool. To break you down." Wrath smiled genially, matching Pride in how much malice that human expression hid. And the sharper that façade was, the more Wrath used that power, Pride swatted Bradley's warm hands that continuously patted him and ruffled his hair and the eldest pushed away, fearful, fearful of this terrible thing the humans possessed, truly yearning to pin it down, to know the name for it. Knowing that he had the upper hand, Wrath tilted his head. His eyebrows curved pleasantly, the left one over his patch. So he explained it to Pride, giving a name to this amorphous, but no-less terrible human weapon. "I believe.." the Homunculus thought. "The humans call it, "Killing with kindness."

END


End file.
